


Sympathy In The Form Of You

by frais



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackmail, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Graphic Violence, Off-screen Relationship(s), Safer Sex, Sexual Tension, Sugar Daddy, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frais/pseuds/frais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete moves into the apartment three months after his divorce is finalized. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [l3EARFAT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/l3EARFAT/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Sympathy In The Form Of You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3580488) by [eivery_al](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eivery_al/pseuds/eivery_al)



> I think anything triggering is tagged; if not I can adjust, just let me know.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> UPDATE 18/6/17: Check out this amazing fanart by l3EARFAT on [Tumblr](http://l3earfat.tumblr.com/post/161965209989/ive-draw-this-so-long-from-my-favorite-peterick)

Pete moves into the apartment three months after his divorce is finalized. He's been crashing with his parents since the fall out but it was time to get back into the city, time to get back into his life. LA isn't Chicago, but his kid is here and that's all that matters now.

It's a pretty nice complex, a new build, and he can afford it, glad for once that he took advice and got a pre-nup. He's come out of the divorce fairly unscathed, he supposes. His heart took a beating, but hers did too. He gets that now he's on the other side. 

She got the house, but that's okay, he didn't want it. It carried too many demons for him so he's got this place now. He can write his next book here and hope it doesn't suck as much as his last.

It takes two weeks to move all his stuff from storage. He's accumulated so much shit over the years, and it hurts having ornaments and books that they bought as a couple now with him here, without Ashlee. He won't have Bronx over until it's all in place; boxes tucked away, white goods and furniture in place. If this is traumatizing for him, he can't imagine what it's like for his kid.

He hasn't really seen his neighbors though. He shares the floor with another guy and he's heard the door opposite unlocking late at night, and then in the morning. There's a car in the basement parking lot in the designated spot, but other than that he's not seen anything. The day he finally has everything put in place, looking like a sad shambolic bachelor pad, he starts miserably waiting for someone in the complex to come knocking with an introduction. In suburbia with Ashlee, barbeques and pool parties were the norm for every new family, he assumed it would be the same here.

Three days later and with no friendly knocks, he's decided to bite the fucking bullet and at the very least introduce himself to the owner of the opposite side. He gets the name from the mail boxes in the downstairs lobby and he raps on the door once he's dropped Bronx at kindergarten. He has to wait a good thirty seconds, by which point he's pretty much ready to retreat back to his own space and soak in the fact that he's been forced back into his reclusive shell by his new neighbors.

“Hey,” Pete says when the door finally opens. Stumph, P., as his mailbox informs him, is a heavy set middle aged dude that looks like he belongs in the neighborhood Pete's just moved from. He's wearing a polo shirt that spreads tight over his middle and fucking chinos. “I'm Pete from across the lobby. I just moved in, so I thought I'd introduce myself. You're Mr. Stumph right?”

“Wrong,” the man says and Pete steps back, shutting his mouth. He tries to peer around the dude and make sure he got the door number correct with what he read on the mail boxes. Pete flounders slightly, running his hand through his hair. He's no good anymore at these kinds of situations. The man eventually takes pity on him and speaks up. “Patrick's already left for work, but I'll let him know you called around.”

“Oh right. Sorry, thanks.” Pete steps back, he guesses their conversation is over by the way the door is starting to close on his face. Pete waves lamely just as the door clicks shut and he takes the short walk across the hall back into his own space.

Pete tries to write, but he just stares at his computer. The little cursor blinks at him as no words spill forward. He taps his fingers on his desk in the corner of the room. He wishes he had a study; somewhere less distracting and he's deeply regretting his plan to move into a fucking box apartment. He's stuck in his open plan space, the TV calling him, the refrigerator buzzing his name under it's breath. There's just too many distractions.

He just drinks coffee and counts the clock down until it's time to pick Bronx up from kindergarten. He heads down in the elevator and out to his car. Today there's a flashy Jaguar parked in one of the guest spots and he wonders what one of his silent neighbors knows such a person to drive one of those.

He picks his kid up and takes him back to the apartment. He's the best thing out of the last six years, Pete knows, and he stares at him sometimes and just goes _wow, I did something awesome_ silently. They eat spaghetti and it's still a little bit painful looking after Bronx here, on his own without Ashlee. They weren't good together in the end, it's still a little bitter and swollen on both sides, but the times when they were a happy family stick in his mind and he hates how he's destroyed that for Bronx.

Bronx likes it here though, being closer to the city than the 'burbs and it's fucking awesome having him here. Pete feels a little less alone and a lot more together when he has his kid to look after. 

But bedtime is still a nightmare no matter where Bronx is, and Pete prays to whatever god that listens that Bronx inherits a sleeping pattern far from his own. He gets him into bed at eight, although he doubts that's the last he'll see of him that night. Pete clears up his kitchenette and stares at the TV, not actively watching, when there's a knock at the door.

Pete gets up and opens it, not in the mood for visitors. He tries to swallow down the misery and put on a fake smile, throwing the door open to see an unfamiliar man standing awkwardly on the other side. He's little; shorter than Pete and with a scruffy mop of blond hair and glasses. Pete has no idea who he is.

“Um,” Pete says, staring the guy down. He smiles at Pete politely and Pete manages to twitch his own face into repeating it back. “Hi?”

“Hey. I'm Patrick from across there.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder to gesticulate. “Sorry I missed you this morning. And sorry I haven't been over to say hi, I didn't want to intrude if you're not settled.”

“No, it's cool man, your dad explained you were at work.” Pete holds out his hand and sees Patrick stiffen slightly before he returns it. “Pete Wentz.”

“Patrick Stumph.” He looks like he's about to say something else before something over Pete’s shoulder catches his eye. Pete turns and sees a flash of blond curls sneak up behind him before Bronx is plastered to his leg, staring up at Patrick in his PJs. “Oh hey. You have a roommate.”

“This is Bronx.” Pete grips his kid's shoulder to stop him doing anything embarrassing, but Patrick crouches down and holds out his hand. Bronx stares a few seconds before he takes it, shaking it with his small fingers. “He lives here Wednesday to Friday.”

“Oh that's awesome. I live across the corridor with my dog, Penny.” Patrick smiles at Bronx, whose eyes light up at the mention of a dog. “I'm sure you'll meet her at some point.”

“Patrick and Penny, huh?” Pete says. Patrick smiles, and it's a nice one; large and genuine. This guy knows nothing of Pete, the mess he is and the mess he's made of his life. Pete kind of likes that about him. “Hey B, go back to bed alright. I'll come see you in a minute.” For once Bronx does as he's told, waving at Patrick before running back into the apartment.

“I don't want to keep you. Just thought I'd say hi, and if you need anything just give me a knock. Most people keep to themselves in the complex, but I'm usually around at some point.” Patrick steps back, still smiling. It's pretty infectious and Pete guesses he looks like a total tool as he returns the smile with little refinement or grace.

“Thanks I appreciate it, dude. It was nice to meet you.” Patrick nods at Pete’s pleasantries, and then bites his lip. He's pretty cute when he does that, Pete can't lie to himself.

“Can I just say something so that things don't get confused or weird?” Patrick says. He takes a step forward, nearer Pete, who simply frowns but nods his head. “He's not my dad. Jonathon, who you met today. He's-- we're not related. We're just, _you know_?”

Pete feels like the biggest idiot and slaps himself across the forehead. He squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens them, Patrick's fair skin is looking more pink. “Shit. Man, I'm so sorry.”

“It's fine. I get that it's an easy mistake.” Patrick bats his hand in the air before it lands awkwardly and he tucks it back under his arm. “He works away a lot, most of the time really. So he's not around much.”

“You should get back to him then,” Pete says. Patrick nods, waving again before turning around and heading back to his own place. It's weird if he thinks about it too much. Patrick's cute in that geeky twink way, pretty and pale but hidden beneath wacky pajamas and oversized glasses. Too cute to be wasted on a white collar fifty-something, but his thought process doesn't go much beyond that. Pete’s not currently got the emotional capacity to let it go beyond that.

He finally gets back into some sort of writing routine by the next Friday afternoon. It's easier without the distraction of Bronx. He knows it's mostly terrible drivel that his editor is going to hate, but it's better than the white pages of before. 

He sees no one else in the complex, not even Patrick, who Pete sees and hears nothing of again. Not until he's in the elevator going down to the basement parking and Patrick comes rushing just as the doors start to slide shut.

“Smooth,” Pete says, smiling as Patrick just about stays on his feet, pushing his glasses up his face. He's in normal clothes now, tight jeans and a leather jacket, he's got a black hat quirked on his head and it makes Pete smile for some reason. There's a bundle of something furry squirming in his hands and Pete looks down to see a grumpy Pomeranian staring up at him. “Penny?”

“Yeah. She's pissy because I woke her up for a walk.” Pete strokes between her ears and her mouth opens on a yawn.

“She's cute.”

“Yeah she's my baby.” Patrick looks down at her, before up at Pete. “You guys settling in alright?”

“Yeah, Bronx is back with his mom now and the place is pretty much sorted.” Pete drops his hand from Penny's fur as Patrick puts her down on the floor. He loops the leash around his hand and then smiles up at Pete. Penny stares at them both before batting at Patrick's leg with her paw.

“Great, you guys should come over sometime.” It's the kind of pleasant comment Pete’s heard every time he's ever moved somewhere new, he's said it to others before, but he can hear the earnest tone in which Patrick says it. Pete smiles at him and nods his head as the elevator finally makes the stop to the ground floor. Patrick tugs on Penny's collar, but she calmly sits down turning her nose up in the air. “Fucking come _on_.” He picks her up and waves to Pete, who waves them off with a laugh, tapping the basement button as he heads down.

Pete does manage to fall into some kind of routine. The writing continues and he's thinking it's kind of okay until he sends his editor the first few chapters and he gets his ass handed to him via email. So he starts over. It's only pulp, he's a silly little writer with low aspirations and unlikable characters but he sells okay. He has a half-baked idea about opening a bar with a friend. It's stupid really, but they've both got the money. He's always been okay with cash; rich parents and a trust fund has seen him through the lower patches in life, but his fiction sells enough to keep him steady. 

But he redoes the draft, starts over. He has some friends over to see the new place and they kind of like it, although it's smaller and cramped and he has no room for guests unless they agree to take the couch. He likes that though, he's not really in the mood for entertaining these days.

 

The next time he sees Patrick again is when he's just picked Bronx up from kindergarten. He's got the kid's bookbag in his hand and an empty juice carton in the other and he's trying to grab the keys from his back pocket as the doors open and Bronx launches out of the elevator and straight into Patrick.

“Woah, easy,” Patrick says, stepping out of the way. Bronx rubs his forehead and looks to Pete like it's his fault. Pete steps out of the elevator before he gets stuck, feeling flustered. “You need a hand?”

Patrick's got a hard guitar case in his hand, but he places it on the floor and takes the bag from Pete's hand, freeing up Pete’s movements so he can get his key out. “Thanks, man. Bronx say sorry to Patrick.”

“What for?” Bronx starts, but just rolls his eyes and then turns to stare up at Patrick instead. “Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.” Patrick bats a hand, and Pete looks at him gratefully. He's dressed smart again, but Pete likes the pajama look he was rocking on their first meeting best. “Hey so you guys still haven't been over to my place yet. I get out the studio at four tomorrow, you wanna come round for dinner?”

Pete hates plans made on the cuff, they always bring out his anxieties and even though he's sure Patrick is a swell guy; is kind of cute, he doesn't actually know him. He's not sure he can keep Bronx in check and himself clued into the conversation for the few hours or so until they're free to leave.

“Will your dog be there?” Bronx asked before Pete even has the chance to make up an excuse. “I haven't seen her yet.”

“Yeah she'll be there. She's more catlike than anything else though.” Patrick's face squeezes up like this physically pains him before he settles. “So you guys like pasta, right?”

“Mac and cheese?” Bronx asks, like it all depends on Patrick's answer. Pete loves his kid for that, for being smooth in ways he can't be.

“Sure, I can do that.” Patrick smiles at the two of them, looking down to see that Pete’s finally got his key out. He hands the bookbag back and picks up the guitar case. “Alright. I've got to get to the studio, but I'll see you both tomorrow, okay?”

Pete’s pretty sure he didn't agree to it, but it's settled now and he nods his head and steps out of the way. He unlocks his own door, staring down at Bronx who looks up at him curiously before running into the apartment.

 

Bronx is so excited the next night that Pete stares at him curiously for a good few seconds, wondering why his kid is turning into such a social butterfly. He must get it from Ashlee. Pete grabs a six pack from his fridge, and tugs on his kid's hand in the other. He tells himself that he moved into a block to make new friends. This is his chance.

He lets Bronx knock on the door and Patrick opens it in no time, giving Bronx a high five as he rushes into the apartment. Pete mutters an apology but Patrick bats it away, stepping back to let Pete in.

The apartment is nice. It's not as cluttered as Pete’s and the furniture looks expensive. He's got a row of guitars in stands in the corner, a small keyboard set up beneath the wall mounted TV. 

“You a musician?” Pete asks, looking at where Bronx has sprawled on his belly to stroke Penny. The brush of her tail wags quickly and she appears to be in a better mood than when Pete first met her.

“Yeah. Just studio work. I've been working on a friend's record so I've not been around much, but I finished up yesterday.” Pete nods his head like he understands and stares some more at the apartment. There's only one bedroom by the looks of it, but he's got more living space than Pete. There's no photos or personal effects though; none of Patrick or even Jonathan. When Pete moved in next door, they were the first things he set up.

“Oh that's awesome. I used to be in bands when I was young, but they were all pretty lame.” Pete remembers the times like they were yesterday, he doesn't want to count the years away they are. It makes him sick with nostalgic dread. “I'm an author, not a great one, but it pays the bills.”

“It's a creative way to pay the bills,” Patrick says. Pete’s good at reading people, can read something in Patrick's tone despite only knowing him for about twenty minutes all together, but he's not sure what so he leaves it alone. 

Patrick makes a pretty awesome mac and cheese and Pete and Bronx tell him such at the same time. Patrick just laughs at them both and tells them it's his mom's recipe and that she deserves all the credit, he's just good at reading instructions. His ears pink up at the compliments though, which Pete notices and decides is pretty fucking cute. 

Pete helps Patrick clear the dishes as Bronx goes back to playing with Penny. She's a cute ball of fluff and appears to like being manhandled by a six year old. He watches his kid and the dog for a few minutes, bottle of beer in his hand when he's finished.

“Hey, thanks for tonight. The last few months have been pretty dire, and you know, it's been pretty lonely going from a married dude in the suburbs to this.” Pete waves his hand around and Patrick nods his head in sympathy. 

“Yeah, it's nice having someone I actually know the name of here. Honestly, I only ever see others down in the parking lot. We all keep to ourselves.” Pete hears the sound of Patrick tapping the lip of his beer bottle to his teeth. 

“What about Jonathan?” Pete remembers the name and the more he looks at Patrick, gets to know him, the less he can understand how they're together. There's no pictures of them up in here, nothing that says a white collar worker lives here. He's not sure where they'd meet up.

“He has his own place, he travels with work. He's coming back this weekend though.” Patrick looks down at his feet like he's embarrassed to talk about it, and Pete can kind of see why.

“Hey man, I'm really sorry I thought he was your dad. I didn't mean to come across as obnoxious right away.” He puts a hand on Patrick's shoulder and ignores the tight fake grin Patrick gives in return.

“It's an easy mistake to make, I get that. It's why we keep it quiet, you know, I don't really want people talking about things they don't know anything about.” Patrick's shoulders rise and Pete knows a defensive move when he sees one.

“Oh hey man, I wasn't trying to pry.” Pete feels bad, he didn't know it was going to be such a touchy subject. “Shit, I didn't want to offend you.”

It's Patrick's turn to look guilty and he shakes his head at Pete’s apology, patting him on the shoulder. “No man. You didn't, really. It's just, people talk and I kind of hate that. Shit-talking is good for no one's soul.”

“Good mantra to live by.” They kind of hit it off a bit better after that. Pete keeps to less testy topics such as music and LA. He finds out he's from Chicago too, and Patrick remembers some of Pete’s bands from when he was a kid. He's twenty-eight, has lived in LA for the last six years. He says he hates it but the work is here. Pete talks about his divorce and his books, and his stupid plan to open a bar and how Bronx has been the only thing keeping him going some days. Patrick hugs him after that, which is weird, because they've only really known each other a night, but he slides his arm over Patrick's shoulder and hugs him back.

Bronx's eyes start to droop after that and Pete sees that as their cue to say goodnight. The food's been good and the company better and despite the awkward moment after talking about Jonathan, it's been a successful night.

“Don't be strangers, alright?” Patrick says, waving them off. Pete nods and goes across the hallway to his own place, lips stretched in a genuine smile.

 

The next time he sends in some chapters to his editor, the email back is still scathing but less so. It motivates him to work over the weekend. He's kid-free for now, and he writes in long blocks until his shoulders ache and his eyes can't focus on anything that isn't the screen. 

He naps on the couch which doesn't help the stiffness in his shoulders, but he doesn't care now. He's in his maudlin writer's brain. He shuts his eyes to the buzzing in his mind and only opens them when he hears noises in the lobby.

Pete goes to his peep hole and sees Patrick and Jonathan walking past his door to get to theirs. Jonathan has his hands tight around Patrick's waist, pushing him forward with his movements. Pete feels a little bummed out, Patrick's a cute guy with a great personality, and he can't help but think he can do so much better than a middle-aged sleaze. He steps away from the door and goes back to the couch, finishing off his beer and tries to block his mind from the images of what's going on in the apartment opposite. 

 

He gets a knock at the door on a Tuesday a few weeks later. He's seen Patrick off and on, they've chatted in the hallway, down in the elevator and he's always such a swell dude, sweet but with a bite of self-aware sarcasm. Pete's crushing a little bit, and it's the first time in awhile, a first time since his divorce crashed down over him and it's come at the wrong time at the wrong person and he doesn't know what to do with it.

He opens his door anyway, alone as he normally is, and Patrick is standing there. He's dressed well; hat but no glasses, tight jeans and button down. He should be too pale to wear that much black but he works it well enough for Pete’s eyes.

“Hey,” Pete says, smiling when Patrick does. “What's up?”

“Hi. So I was just wondering, if um, well I sing downtown at this bar on a Tuesday, it's pretty casual, you know. But I wondered if you wanted to come along. I know you don't have Bronx until tomorrow and you might want some company?” Patrick is rambling, his hands fidgeting in his back pocket. Pete's surprised at the offer, he's not seen Patrick outside of the apartment building, he wasn't sure they were that close of friends.

“Sure,” he says. Part of him wants to decline, but the part of him that sees Patrick fidgeting in front of him knows that it's probably taken a lot to ask, and Patrick's a good guy for trying to keep Pete socialized. He doesn't want to let him down. “When?”

“Uh, like now? I know I should've asked sooner but I got caught up with some stuff, and only just remembered to leave.” Patrick bites his lip and looks away as he waits for Pete’s response.

“Alright, I'll go grab my wallet.” Pete heads into the apartment and snatches what he needs. He grabs his jacket on the way out, sees Patrick eying him as he locks the door.

The bar Patrick performs at is a kind that Pete’s never been too before. He's always been more club-minded, likes the alienation of so many bodies pressed together, so many hearts to break in one place. His writer brain loves it. This place is busy but not so much so that bodies are cramped; old fashioned and outdated, but it looks cozy enough.

Patrick's spoken nervously to Pete beforehand, about how he just does it on the side, and that it's nothing too serious, nothing that should make Pete think he's amazing or anything, and that's it's just a hobby and that his friend owns the bar. 

Pete takes a seat at the bar when Patrick sets up. It's alright, really, there're people in here that appear to have come to see Patrick deliberately and that's intriguing. 

“Is he popular in here?” he asks the bar tender, noting the tatts running down his neck and all the way to his hands. They don't stand out so well on his dark skin, but Pete stares all the same.

“The little dude brings in all my customers on a Tuesday. You came here together right, first date?” He sees the smirk on the barman's face and shakes his head as his cheeks flush.

“No. He's got someone already. I'm his neighbor, I figured he took pity on my lonely ass and forced me out the apartment,” Pete says, seeing the man's eyebrows raise at the first part. Pete wonders if he should say anything else, but decides that'd probably just make matters worse. “Pete.”

“Travis,” The man says, smiling. He's kind of hot too, Pete’s not been into guys for years now, not since before Ashlee, but Patrick and his friends are opening that long closed door. “Nice to meet you, Pete. Enjoy the show, he's good trust me.”

Pete realizes the moment Patrick starts playing that this Travis guy is a good one to trust. Patrick's voice is clear; soulful and rich. Pete had been expecting something sweet but a little thin and he feels like a fucking idiot for thinking such.

Patrick's set goes quick, his skin starting to sweat as he goes through each song. There's a couple of covers; Bowie and one that Pete knows but has no idea who sings. The rest are new to him, originals he guesses, but he nods his head along all the same. 

There's a loud cheer when Patrick finishes and Pete can stop his cheeks from puffing out in joy. “His voice, man, I just wanna bottle it and listen to it forever,” Pete says. He thinks he can count Travis as a buddy now, mostly because he's drunk on strong beer, but he smiles and winks at Pete in response. 

It takes Patrick a while to shake off his apparent fans, but eventually he heads over to the bar, and Pete hands him a beer. Patrick takes it with thanks, a blush riding high on his cheeks. 

“You didn't tell me you could sing like that! You didn't tell me you could sing!” Pete’s gushing, but he doesn't care because Patrick's face is squishing up like he doesn't like appreciate compliments and it's really cute. “Dude, I'm fucking astounded.”

“Astounded?” Patrick says, his eyebrow quirking. “That's what you're going for?”

“Whatever, dude. You can't hide a voice like that from me, I'm going to want you to sing to me forever.” Pete grips Patrick's shoulder in his hand and squeezes a few times before letting go. 

“Thanks, I think. I'm glad you came tonight.” Patrick looks at Pete from the corners of his eyes and it's kind of hot and Pete has to look away before he says something dumb. He looks to his right and sees Travis eying them with a smirk before turning away.

“Barman's hot,” Pete says, and he sees Patrick twist his head so quick he's surprised he doesn't end up with whiplash _“What?_ ” he asks when Patrick frowns at him.

“I didn't know you were bi,” Patrick says and Pete just shrugs.

“Never said I wasn't. Plus, pretty sure it's just fact.” Patrick makes a face like he accepts that, and Pete nudges him with elbow and whispers low in his ear. “You ever screwed him?”

“ _What_? No. Of course I haven't!” Patrick sounds mildly insulted or just a bit snooty and Pete’s too drunk to be polite so he just scoffs. “McCoy is definitely not bi, so you've no chance there.”

“Still pretty to look at,” Pete says and he sees Patrick shrug. He's certain they both just sit there and stare at Travis for a good few minutes. Eventually Pete turns to Patrick. The blush has faded from his skin, although he's still damp with sweat and his lips are pink and plump. Pete’s pretty horny at this point, after the singing and the atmosphere, and staring at him isn't helping. “You're really awesome.”

“You're really drunk,” Patrick says in response. He turns on his stool to stare at Pete. “Thanks for coming though, seriously. I don't really have anyone that comes to see me outside of the people I work with. Not because I don't have friends, but I hate performing for them.”

“Jonathan ever seen you?”

Patrick shakes his head. “This isn't his scene. And I wouldn't, you know, I don't want people talking about me. People would talk if they knew about him.”

Pete nods his head, Jonathan would stick out like a sore thumb in this joint. They don't look right together in Pete’s mind, he can't see them matching up at any point. Especially not in a bar like. 

“He's not a big fan of my music anyway.” Patrick looks like this doesn't bother him, but Pete thinks Jonathan must be a pretty big douche at this point. “Then I tell him I'm not a big fan of his white-collar lifestyle and he shuts his fucking mouth.” 

After a few more beers and a lot more laughs they leave the bar. He waves his goodbyes to Travis who nods at them both, his eyebrows raised once more. Patrick's probably over the limit as he drives them home, but they make it back to the parking lot in one piece. 

Patrick leans against him in the elevator, warm and drunk, and Pete likes the feel of a body pressing against his own. He wants them to press together further, down onto a bed, and his hand is slipping low to Patrick's hip before he snatches it away. He can't, not when Patrick's with someone, not when it'll just be a terrible rebound. He steps back just as the doors open and escapes out of the heat of the elevator.

Patrick's still a few steps behind, but he's blinking like he's aware that something just gone down. “So uh, I guess I'll see you soon. When we're both sober?” he says and Pete just nods his head, smiling back. His body feels weird now that Patrick's not invading his space. “Thanks for coming.”

“You've thanked me enough. Thank you for getting me out the house and realizing how fucking talented you are.” Pete doesn't care if his compliments are too much, or too sincere because they're fucking true. He wants to pull Patrick in for a hug, but he doesn't dare, in case it turns into something else.

“Goodnight, Pete,” Patrick says instead, and Pete watches as the door opposite his own opens and then shuts before he goes into his own. 

 

Pete’s too old to get shitfaced, and he feels it the next morning. He's got Bronx until Sunday this week and he's excited to take his kid out to the park, spend an entire day with him instead of just after Kindergarten. He misses those parts about being married the most, he never realized it'd be something he'd take for granted.

Still, he takes his aspirin and doesn't feel completely like shit. Instead he thinks back to the night at the bar, Patrick and his fucking voice, and his fucking pink mouth and the way he felt warm and firm bumping into Pete in the elevator. Pete can't get hooked on him, not the way he's going.

Pete has lunch with Gabe, who is still determined that they open a bar together and is trying desperately to get Pete more serious on the idea. It sounds awesome, dreaming about it, but so did being an author when he was young. 

“So how's the apartment?” Gabe asks. He's been around once to help Pete sift through boxes, but Pete hasn't had him up there since. It's easier to socialize out of it. “Met any of the neighbors yet?”

“Only the guy opposite, Patrick. Bronx is in love with his dog, and he's pretty awesome.” Pete looks up over his coffee and sees that Gabe has his eyebrow raised like recognizes something low in his tone and Pete shakes his head. “Nah. We're not, we haven't. He has some daddy he fucks on the weekend.”

Gabe looks approvingly at that comment. “Kinky.”

“Gross, not kinky. Seriously, that is not hot daddy dick he's getting. He could do better.” Pete really tries not to think about it, but he knows Jonathan's coming this weekend and he hates knowing what they'll be doing behind locked doors.

“You want him on your hot daddy dick, then?” Gabe tries a different route, laughing behind his hand when Pete throws a bunched up napkin at him.

“Fuck you, man. That's not what I mean. I just think he could do better.” Pete shrugs, and blows on his coffee, looking over the mug to see Gabe still staring at him, thoroughly amused. “Not that it's my business.”

Gabe drops it after that, although the quirk that stays on his lips means he's probably storing this information for a later date. He goes over more business with Pete, trying to get him into looking for premises and location spotting for their pseudo bar. He talks about his new girl that Pete still hasn't met, and he feels bad for that. He's pretty much abandoned his friends in recent months.

 

Pete gets an invite in his mailbox a few days later and he goes to knock on Patrick's door in confusion. Patrick's got a bowl of cereal curved against his chest as he opens the door, smiling around his spoon as he steps back.

“Hey did you get this invite? Apparently someone's having a Christmas party on the upper floor and we're all invited.” Pete reads from the neat piece of card. He hasn't checked his box in a few days and when he looks up Patrick's picking up an identical invite and smirking.

“They must be new,” Patrick says. “Otherwise they'd know that no one talks around here.”

“Yeah.” Pete agrees. He's aware of faces; of who lives on what floor but other than awkward nods, he's never spoken to anyone outside of Patrick. “You going?”

“If you do,” Patrick says, he puts down his breakfast bowl and holds out a carton of orange juice as a question to Pete. Pete nods to the drink and watches Patrick pour two glasses before answering.

“I guess we should put in an appearance, don't want people thinking bad thoughts about level five, right?” Patrick laughs at Pete’s joke, his hand curved around his glass of OJ. When he smiles, his nose squishes up a little bit and Pete finds it all kinds of cute.

He's blushing, probably, although being blessed with darker skin helps hide it and he knocks back his own drink, placing it on the side before leaving. He's got deadlines to hit with his book, and emails to send to his parents. He's got to get away before Patrick and his stupid little smile consumes him.

 

The invite said to dress in the Christmas spirit, but Pete didn't have all that much festivity inside him at the moment. It's going to be his first one without Bronx and he's going back to his parents instead. At least he'll have his mom's cooking to look forward to, but that's about it.

He buys an antler headband at the dollar store and slides them on before knocking on Patrick's door. His shirt is red, which is festive enough he figures, to complete the outfit. He's remembering the Christmas themed lingerie set he bought Ashlee two years ago when Patrick opens the door.

Patrick appears to have been at a loss for his own outfit and has decided to drape himself in various colors of tinsel. Around his hat is green; yellow for a necklace and a red and silver strand looped around his waist against his belt. He looks Pete up and down appreciatively and his cheeks are pink enough that he looks to have already been on the eggnog. 

“Where's your nose, Rudolph?” Patrick asks as he locks his door, before sliding his arm over Pete’s elbow and dragging him to the elevator. 

“Maybe I'm not Rudolph. Could be one of the other ones, you know, Blitzen or some shit.” Pete mentally goes through the names in his head, before he shakes it, it's not like it matters.

“No one dresses up as Blitzen.” Patrick informs him. The tinsel in his belt is too long and trails like a tail from the back. Pete picks it up and flings it over Patrick's arm, so he's carrying the extra length. 

“How drunk are you already?” Pete puts his fingers against Patrick's cheeks and feels the heat coming off from his skin. He's seen him drunk before, but never this loose and carefree. It looks good on him.

“A little.” Patrick confesses, leaning close like it's a secret. “The studio had a party and I think my juice was spiked.” Pete hears the shimmying of the tinsel as Patrick spins on the spot, and the doors open to the seventh floor. “Ooh, never been up this high in the building.”

Someone's blaring Whitney Houston loudly from the speakers and Pete nods his head appreciatively. They must be late to the gathering or really the only people that no one talks to as there's mingling and vaguely familiar faces across the room all talking to each other.

“Do we just, like, interact with people?” Pete asks. There's no one that's spotted them yet and Pete turns to Patrick who was scanning the room, curling his golden tinsel around his fingers. 

“I'm not good around strangers,” Patrick says, tilting his head upwards. “Maybe we should find the drinks and start from there?”

By the time they find the drinks spilled out into the kitchen, they've been introduced to the hosts. Joe and Marie, new to the area like Pete, but apparently far better at making friends because they know everyone else in the building. 

“Okay so what one's the writer and what one's the singer?” Marie says. She's got red lipstick and a red dress and a really nice smile and Pete smiles back easily, elbowing Patrick when he catches him staring too long at Joe's wild hair.

“I write,” Pete says, “He's the singer-musician dude.” 

“I have been known to dabble with the guitar,” Joe says. It sounds like he's joking, but Pete saw an amp being used as a side table on the way in so he guesses he's actually being truthful. “You guys been together long?”

“ _Joe_ ,” Marie says, giving him a sharp elbow in the side. “Pete and Patrick live in separate apartments, _separately_.”

“Oh, sorry dudes. I saw you guys out once and picked up a vibe.” Joe winces, looking apologetic. “Me and my vibes, man.”

“It's fine,” Pete says, looking at Patrick, who's throwing a drink of something down his throat to stop himself being able to talk. “We're pretty close, I get it could be mistaken.”

Patrick nods his head agreeably, the mood suitably awkward. The hosts find a quick escape and Pete watches Marie whisper at Joe furiously as they leave. They've probably just gone and lost the one chance at actually making acquaintances with their neighbors now. 

“Dude, thanks for helping me out there.” Pete deadpans as Patrick just shrugs, handing Pete a paper cup of something. When he puts it to his mouth he can smell the rum, barely sweetened by anything. He knocks it back then winces. He's not a rum guy.

“It's not like we don't have vibes,” Patrick says. He's drunk, mouth damp and bits of tinsel tangling over his body, but there's an honesty in his eyes and Pete stares at him for far too long before he fills his cup back up.

Patrick's either a hilarious drunk, or Pete’s drunk enough that everything he says is funny but they manage to have fun at the party without anyone talking to them. Patrick throws his golden tinsel and catches Pete around the neck, pulling him in as they dance. 

Patrick's a pretty terrible dancer, but his hips don't stop moving and Pete holds onto them, his fingers sliding around to the back to grip his round ass and Patrick doesn't stop him, just laughs against Pete’s cheek.

No ones watching them, too busy with their own dancing. At one point he sees Joe attempting the limbo, and that's drawn a crowd, but all he sees is Patrick with his constant red mouth and his gyrating hips and he wants to do so much more than dance with him to fucking Slade.

They've been throwing back the rum, and Pete leaves to take a leak at one point. When he comes back it takes a while to find Patrick, but he spots the tangle of tinsel in the corner, a tall man talking at him. Patrick looks wasted, but trying to engage until he sees Pete and waves him over.

“This is level three,” Patrick says, and Pete winks at the guy. He's pretty looking; a tangle of brown hair and creepily thin. Pete can see the edges of his hip bones through his t-shirt. “Pete's my neighbor. This is Bill.”

“Bill, hi.” Pete sees the man staring at him in an obvious way, and Pete raises his eyebrows, sees Patrick looking away, hiding his smirk. “You, uh-- how you doing, man?”

Pete knows a come on, but no one has really come onto him in ages. Patrick doesn't really count because it never goes anywhere, but Bill's got sleaze in his eye, and is leaning forward. Patrick's standing half in front of Pete and he has to stumble to the side as Bill's tall figure nearly traps him between them both as he leans into Pete's ear.

“You wanna go outside on the balcony?” Bill asks, which is way more forward than Pete was expecting and he kind of chokes on his own tongue a little bit, feels the brush on tinsel as Patrick shifts to face him.

“You know, I'm alright here. I came here with Patrick, we're kind of a team.” He throws his arm over Patrick, and gets a mouthful of green tinsel for doing so. Bill however narrows his eyes at this, turning to Patrick.

“What's your guy say about that? I saw you blowing him in that Jag of his a few weeks back.” Pete really does choke this time, and he sees Patrick stiffen and glow a dark red before his body loosens up. Pete squeezes his eyes shut to block the images flooding his mind right now.

“Yeah he likes that. But Pete isn't interested in you, I think he was just being polite, so.” If Patrick was wearing his glasses, Pete’s sure he's have shoved them up his nose on the last word to punctuate his point. Instead, he just fiddles with his red and silver tinsel tail until Pete and Bill stop staring at him.

“Huh,” Bill says eventually, shrugging his shoulders. “It was worth a shot. Nice meeting you guys.” He leaves their little gathering, elbows jabbing Patrick in the side. He's so thin and bony though, that it's hard to say if it was deliberate.

They end up, a few more paper cups later, back down in Patrick's apartment. Patrick's lost his hat, and therefore his green string of tinsel but he's tied the gold one up like a lasso. He manages at one point to grab Pete’s arm, and he drags him forward. 

“Gotcha now.” Patrick deepens his voice in what is clearly an impression of _someone_. Pete has no idea who, but he laughs anyway. His temples hurt from the pressing of the antlers and he takes them off, scratching where they pressed in. “Aw, where's Rudolph gone?”

“I told you, I was Blitzen.” The room is spinning a bit, but Pete just stares at Patrick. Patrick's still got his hand in his makeshift lasso, and he walks backwards until they've crossed the threshold of his bedroom.

Penny had run into the room the moment they stumbled into the apartment and now looks even more annoyed that they've disturbed her in here. She hops from the bed, and disappears out into the living space again. Pete watches Patrick fall back onto the bed, looks at the strip of skin as his shirt rises slightly and he blinks away everything as he falls onto the bed next to him.

“Hey man. I didn't mean to cock-block you earlier,” Patrick says. His voice is at a normal pitch now, and he rolls onto his side to face Pete. He's past giggly and slipped into sleepy. Pete breathes in the scent of Patrick on the bedding and decides that's where he is too. “You should have gone for it if you were interested.”

“I wasn't.” Pete admits it easily, the rum loosening his tongue. He can feel Patrick's breath against his face, and he runs his thumb over the bridge of his nose for a moment. “There was only one person I was interested in tonight.”

“Me too, Blitzen.” Patrick leans forward like he's going to kiss Pete but he stops at the last moment, lips brushing Pete’s skin before he falls away, curling up against him instead; solid and drunk.

It takes Pete a few seconds before he realizes that Patrick's fallen asleep. He knows he should leave; he should go back to his own apartment, but Patrick is warm against him, breathing against his neck, and it soothes the dark curling of his chest. He's going to stay for a little while longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Screwing Patrick has been on his to-do list for months now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really long, but there is smut so hopefully that's a trade up (:

It takes Pete a while to work out where he is when he finally wakes up. Behind the splitting headache he realizes that he's got a mouthful of hair and he spits it out. He sits up in alarm, too quickly for his drink-addled mind, and it takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up.

Dawn hasn't broken yet and the room is still dark, but Pete can work out bits and pieces of the night before. He remembers Patrick's laughter and his hips under his fingers, remembers fragments of conversations and glittering gold tinsel. He pinches the bridge of his nose, rubs the sleep from his eyes and sees that Patrick's still curled up asleep in his clothes. 

Pete takes a few deep breaths before he shuffles to the end of the bed and slides to his feet. He's not drunk anymore, but his head is hanging hard. He puts his hand against the wall to guide himself to the door. He takes one last look at Patrick, curled up and unaware, before he makes his exit to his own place.

 

He sees Patrick late the next day. He thought it'd be awkward enough, but it's made worse by the fact that Pete's just picked Bronx up. It's Pete's last time with the kid until after the holidays and it sucks so bad. Patrick's walking out of the elevator with Jonathan and Pete’s stomach does a strange flip.

“Patrick!” Bronx says. Pete sees him look around before frowning disappointed that Penny's not with him. He hi-fives Patrick all the same, looking up curiously at Jonathan, who stares at them all before walking past and heading to the Jaguar parked in the guest spot. Pete has a sudden flashback to Bill's comment about Patrick giving head in that car and his guts twist with jealousy.

“Hey kiddo,” Patrick says. He ruffles Bronx's messy blond hair before his eyes slide up to Pete’s. He's dressed more casual now than last night, still tight jeans but a t-shirt and sweater. Pete misses the sparkly decorations adorning his hat. “You alright after last night?”

“Yeah. Sore head earlier, but that was my own fault.” He sees Bronx looks up at him in a suspecting way and he throws an arm over his shoulders, pulling him back into him. “You good?”

“Yeah. I had fun,” Patrick says, he smiles at Pete. It's a secret one full of everything that happened the night before. It's fucking hot, and Pete shouldn't be thinking these things in front of his son, or Patrick's boyfriend, who starts blaring on the horn in his car. No longer patiently waiting on Patrick. “I should probably--”

“Patrick!” Jonathan calls out the window and Pete sees Patrick's eyes flare up with something briefly before they settle and he steps past them.

“I'll see you guys soon.” Patrick waves at them both and Pete starts to steer Bronx by the shoulders over to the elevator doors. 

“Who was that man?” Bronx asks, and Pete bites his lip before explaining that he's Patrick's friend. “I don't like him,” Bronx declares after a few seconds of thinking and Pete doesn't vocalize his feelings on the matter, but he agrees with his kid on this.

 

He takes Bronx to the zoo on Saturday. It's packed full of kids zipping into their path and he gets tripped up by about three different strollers over the space of an hour. But still, he gets to watch Bronx's face as they watch the lions. He lets him stay up late to open presents, Pete's spoiled him like crazy, but he doesn't find joy in much other than his kid's smile, so he's sure it's worth it.

He doesn't see Patrick all weekend, although Jonathan's Jaguar remains boldly in place. Pete stares at it, the tan color dulled in the basement parking, and just fumes silently before dropping Bronx back at Ashlee's. Normally he drops him off at kindergarten and she picks him up after, it's all still too fresh to be okay with seeing each other all the time. Everything else is too close to the edge, the broken shards of their marriage are still too sharp to touch at the moment. Maybe one day when the air has cleared it'll be easier.

He has to turn the radio up loud once he's dropped Bronx at home. It's too quiet without his kid's constant chatter; he misses it like crazy even if he only understands half of what he's saying. He's almost glad he's going back to Chicago for the holidays, that he'll have his mom's cooking to distract from the loneliness. 

Pete takes the stairs instead of the elevator for once, prolonging his journey home. He doesn't want to be alone tonight, doesn't want to be shut into the walls of his space and feel his mind do the same thing. He feels the burn in his calves by the time he hits the third floor, but it's only two more flights after that. 

He's about to push open the door into the lobby he shares with Patrick when he hears the sound of talking in the hallway. Patrick's voice is light and breezy, a laugh ending abruptly on a loud thump, like a body being thrown into the wall. Pete angles himself so that he can peer into the window of the door and sees what he suspected; Patrick pushed up against the wall opposite. Jonathan's got a hand pressed into his chest, the other squeezing his jaw with his bloated, red fingers.

“Don't you ever think you have the right to talk to me like that again,” Jonathan snarls, unaware that Pete can hear this. For what it's worth, Pete cans see that Patrick isn't shying away, but staring up blankly and refusing to look away. “Remember your fucking place, you piece of shit.”

“Hey, is everything alright?” Pete says, kicking the door open, no longer willing to be a voyeur in this. It swings wide and Jonathan falls back from pinning Patrick in shock. It's only now that they've been caught that Patrick turns red, and he rubs at his chin, refusing to lift his eyes to meet Pete's.

Pete’s short, but he can take down taller guys in a fight. He's still got a bit of muscle on him and Jonathan's well into middle aged, guys like that tire easy. Jonathan's ego and temper appear to settle into a cool look though as he brushes roughly past Pete, taking the stairwell for his exit.

“You alright, man?” Pete asks, going to approach but Patrick slides along the wall until he hits his own door, his eyes don't rise from his feet and his hand doesn't leave his chin.

“Sorry, you had to see that. I'll just-- I'll see you later, Pete.” Patrick shuts the door on the conversation and Pete stares at the empty lobby, wondering what he just walked in on before he gets his key out and goes home.

Pete makes grilled cheese and eats it without a napkin or plate, because he's a fucking bachelor and he doesn't even have a kid to tell on him, or a dog to beg at him. It's lonely, but it's one benefit to living alone.

The door knocks at around eleven and Pete jumps out of his TV trance to open it and see Patrick standing there, hunched up in his pajama pants and hoodie. He's got Penny in his arms and he looks a little sheepish. Pete steps back and lets Patrick shuffle in.

“Is everything okay?” Pete asks as Patrick sits on the couch. Penny just curls up in his lap, willing to sleep there as Pete takes the seat next to him. “What he did wasn't cool, man. He has no right to talk to you like that.”

Patrick looks at Pete, he looks tired and like he's had this conversation a bunch of times in his head already. Eventually he just shrugs. “It's because he's older, you know, he thinks he can tell me what to do.”

“That's an unnecessary power trip,” Pete says and Patrick smiles at him like it's all a big misunderstanding. Pete frowns harder, resting his hand on Patrick's shoulder. “Has he hit you before?”

Patrick shakes his head vehemently. “No way. I wouldn't fucking stand for that. We both have tempers and, I don't know, I guess 'cos he's older he likes to try and control me. But it's not-- you don't have to worry. I'm fine, it's fine.”

Pete's not sure he believes what Patrick's saying, but he's not sure he has the capability to change his mind. He cups his hand to Patrick's neck and feels his warm skin against his cool fingers. Patrick leans into it slightly before pulling away. “If you ever need to talk about it, you know you can with me, right? I have a thick black book of exes, so I probably give the worst kind of advice, but I'm still a friend.”

“I appreciate that. It's fine, it'll blow over.” Patrick smiles stiffly at Pete, like he's faking certainty, and Pete doesn't know. He's not in this relationship, but there's something off about it, he's known that from the start. “I should get back, he'll be back soon. I just wanted to clear things between us.”

Patrick looks like he needs more than that, so Pete pulls him into a hug when they stand, careful of Penny in his arms. Patrick drops his head briefly to Pete’s shoulder before stepping back and giving a pretty terrible fake smile.

“Okay. So, I'll see you after the holidays. Happy Christmas.” Patrick says, and Pete nods his head and whispers the sentiment back. He watches Patrick shuffle from his apartment and back to his own. It's around twelve AM when he hears Patrick's door open again, probably Jonathan, and he digs his nails into the palms of his hands and tries to breathe easier.

 

He starts to attend Patrick's set every Tuesday when he's back from his parents. He sits at the bar and cheers loudly, and chats to Travis, who thinks Patrick's pretty much the best thing ever. Pete talks about his plans with Gabe to open a bar, and Travis offers to help out where he can. It's great really, because Pete's starting to socialize more, starting to see past the walls of his own mind for the first time since the failing of his marriage.

Still, after every set, Patrick comes and sits next to Pete at the bar. He sweats and laughs and Pete knows they're flirting with each other, can tell now that there's interest on Patrick's side, that's been obvious since the Christmas party, but he can't do anything about it. He can't because Patrick will just be his rebound, and Patrick has a boyfriend, and Pete won't help him cheat.

The days in which Jonathan stays over, Pete doesn't see Patrick at all. He sees the Jaguar parked in the basement and occasionally he hears the sound of talking from inside Patrick's apartment. The days he does see Patrick after Jonathan leaves, he looks tired and pale. Pete just smiles and waves, but doesn't attempt conversation.

 

The next time he's at one of Patrick's sets, it's going really fucking well. His voice is stronger than ever tonight and the atmosphere's awesome. Pete catches his eye during the final chorus of the penultimate song, and he sees Patrick break out into a bright smile. It catches somewhere in Pete’s chest. He has to look away, but not before he sees McCoy staring at them both with an amused expression.

The doors open during the first chorus of the final song and Pete looks up in alarm when Jonathan walks in. He looks out of place in this establishment. Too upper class and put together to be here, but he sits next to Pete at the bar, eyes him with his little beady eyes and orders a bourbon. Travis does it without comment although he raises an eyebrow at Pete. Pete shakes his head, he can't comment on this.

Patrick doesn't notice that Jonathan's here until the final part and his hands slide across the strings of his guitar before he catches himself. He doesn't look up until he finishes the song and he's clapped and whistled as he finishes the set.

Patrick takes his time to head over to the bar. He talks to a few of the guys that stop him, hugs a girl that's been at nearly every set before making his approach. “Hey, Pete,” he says quietly, before his eyes dart to Jonathan's. He smiles close-mouthed and cold. “Jonathan, what are you doing here?”

“Thought I'd come check you out, never heard you play before.” Pete sees him pull Patrick closer by the wrist, so that he's pressed up against him. They'll be catching the eye of the other patrons soon, especially when they see the way Jonathan's hand has slipped to Patrick's ass, palming it in his hand. Pete wants to turn away, but he's fairly certain he's supposed to be watching this.

Patrick starts to squirm. “Not here,” he says, but there must be a warning that Pete can't pick up on because Patrick stops fighting it and just goes limp. 

“Give me a kiss, then,” Jonathan says, and Pete curls his hands tight around the neck of his bottle, his teeth gritting tight. It's a power play again and Pete can see it exactly for what it is. But he watches along with a lot of other people as Patrick leans in to kiss him on the mouth.

There's the sound of surprised murmurings from around the bar and Pete sees Travis staring at the scene in shock. He winces when he sees that Jonathan's deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into Patrick's mouth. Patrick pulls away when he can and Pete can see the humiliation on his face. He keeps his eyes low, but his cheeks have turned red. 

Jonathan rubs his hand over Patrick's mouth for a second before sliding from the stool and disappearing off to the bathroom. Eyes follow him but he doesn't seem upset by it. Pete slides his half-finished beer to Patrick and watches him pour it back without pause.

“I don't know why he's here, why he's doing this,” Patrick says. He looks up from under his blond bangs at Pete and Pete just shakes his head, rubbing his arm. “I didn't want people knowing. He knows this. I guess I pissed him off again.”

“Patrick, it's alright, no one's going to judge you.” Pete slides his hand down to wrap around Patrick's fingers and he squeezes lightly. Patrick nods his head at him, like he's trying to believe it before he steps away from the bar, sliding his fingers from Pete's.

“I'm going to go outside and clear my head.” Patrick places the bottle on the bar and makes a quick exit. Some people are still staring, but most have gone back to talking amongst themselves, the music turned up louder now that the set's over.

When Jonathan reappears he takes one cool look at Pete before making his way outside. Pete’s uneasy about it, but he has to tell himself it's not his life; not his business. He goes back to drinking his beer alone, tapping his hands on the bar top.

“You should go out there and make sure Patrick's alright. That ain't a relationship I want to see him in.” Travis stares down at him and Pete frowns. “You know it too.”

“He could have pushed him away and he didn't. I tried to help before and he said he was fine.” Pete’s not sure what he can do. He wants to help, but he's not getting involved unless Patrick asks him to.

“There's only one guy Patrick wants to be with right now and it's not the one that was groping him. One of you needs to man up and take that dude out. I'd do it myself but I've got a bar to run, man. Go sort it out.” Travis is batting him away and Pete remembers in a jolt what he encountered in the lobby a few weeks back. He scoots off his stool and to the exit in no time.

There's no one out in the doorway, and Pete stands there for a few seconds looking around. He walks around to the side of the building, past the flickering lights of the glowing sign, and the yellow street lights. He hears the sound of arguing and steps a bit closer.

“--You said you'd stay away from this part of my life. You want me to come to fucking Pasadena and let your wife know what exactly you get up to on your business trips?” He hears Patrick's voice, and Pete stands with his feet rooted to the ground as the words spit out. 

“You ever think of doing that to me I'll make sure all your little friends know what you really are. If I find out you've been on your back for that douche of a neighbor I'll make sure you regret ever fucking playing me at all. You think he'd want you if he knew the truth?” Pete steps into view the moment Patrick starts to bristle angrily, and Pete's full of his own rage at this point, pushing Patrick out of the way to slam his own knuckles into the side of Jonathan's head.

“Oh Jesus,” Patrick says. He pulls Pete away quickly, sliding between the two of them. “Go home Jonathan, get the fuck out of here. Call me when you're ready to discuss our options.”

Jonathan rubs his face, looking ready for another fight, but despite Patrick's stature and sweet face, there's a threat behind his voice and he backs away, disappearing into the main street. Patrick turns to look at Pete, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb. He hasn't hit anyone in a long while now, and he shakes away the sting.

“You need ice?” Patrick asks, and Pete shakes his head. Patrick drops his hand and looks away. “How much of that did you hear?”

“The part where you said he had a wife.” Pete would have guessed as such. Jonathan's a middle aged white guy with a decent job, he's not going to be without ties. Pete never said anything because Patrick is so testy about the relationship, but he'd wondered a few times.

“You must think I'm a really bad person,” Patrick says. He sits down on the ground with his back to the wall and Pete joins him, twisting his head to stare at his friend.

“I think you're under his control, but I know what that's like. I've been that way with someone I loved,” Pete tries. With Ashlee, they'd been casual until the pregnancy, love came after and was probably forced by the two of them, but before her he'd been burned by love, burned plenty of others with it.

“I know he doesn't love me.” Patrick shakes his head. His features look shadowed in the dark and Pete can hardly remember how he looked the first time he met him; soft and warm in his pajamas. He wants that time back so much, he knows how to play that part of the game. “He loves certain parts of me, but not me as a whole.”

“You're fine with that?” Pete doesn't understand any of this. He won't pretend he knows everything about his friend but he knows that Patrick isn't stupid and he's not a pushover, but he's acting like both now.

“I don't love any part of him.” Patrick digs his heels into the ground over and over. His hands are fidgeting in his lap like he's in pain and Pete’s at a fucking loss as to what's going on.

“So what the fuck are you doing?” Pete can feel that his forehead is burrowing into creases, and he rubs at it, trying to work this all out.

“It's complicated. I owe him a lot.” Patrick's words are quick and well practiced as they fall from his mouth, but it sounds like he believes them, it doesn't sound like bullshit.

“You can't stay with him for that reason. Not after the way I saw him treat you tonight, or the way I saw him treat you a few weeks back. You know you're better than that, and I know you can take care of yourself.” Pete slides his good hand into Patrick's; he tries to squeeze some sense into him.

“If you knew how I owed him you wouldn't say that.” Pete’s done with all the mystery now but Patrick is shaking his head from side to side, and he looks genuinely upset. Pete doesn't know this Patrick, and he doesn't know how to talk him into or out of things. He can't do this with no blueprints to work from.

“Alright then.” Pete nods and stands, brushing his ass off. He's too old to be sitting in alleyways. He holds his hand out to Patrick and pulls him up. “I can't argue if you're not going to let me in, but any time you want to talk about it, let me know.”

Patrick looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn't say anything else and just follows Pete back into the bar to collect his guitar. They drive home in silence and Pete watches Patrick's face for any clues about what the fuck is going on, but he gets nothing.

“You'd hate me if you knew the truth,” Patrick says finally, when they make it back to their apartments. He looks sad and small, and Pete wants to take him into his apartment and make him feel better, but he can't do that if he won't give himself away.

“I doubt it,” Pete says. His voice is cold and withdrawn and he shuts the door before Patrick can even respond.

 

He goes back to focusing on his book. He gets enough momentum that he starts getting somewhere decent with it. It helps focus on that instead of what crazy drama Patrick has going on his life. Bronx appears disappointed that Patrick stops knocking and asking if Penny can come over to play, but he doesn't say anything. For a few hours Pete thinks about getting a pet, for Bronx and his own company, but he's not sure he can deal with the commitment. 

Then he gets an urgent call from his editor about a late meeting that's needed in the office, and it's a Thursday so he's got Bronx with him and he doesn't want to take his kid with him; let him loose in an office where he can't trust anyone to look after a precocious six year old.

He knocks on Patrick's door before he has the chance to chicken out. Patrick answers the door slowly, but he smiles politely when he does. Pete looks him up and down before he really has the chance to stop himself. Patrick looks just as he always does, dark jeans, sweater, soft hair and glasses. He smiles at Pete like they haven't spent the past few weeks ignoring each other.

“Okay, this is probably totally inappropriate because we haven't spoken for weeks, but I'm being forced into a meeting and I've got Bronx, but could you look after him for a few hours?” Pete asks it all in a blur, and then stops to breathe. “If not, I can probably take him with me.”

“No worries,” Patrick says. “That's cool.” He's still smiling sweetly and it's giving Pete a fucking headache. 

“Why are you so fucking nice?” Pete asks, and then Patrick's face switches up, his lips pressing in a purse and his fingers tapping against his own jaw in possible confusion.

“Well, you've done a lot for me, and I like your kid and I'm not busy?” Patrick raises his shoulders in a shrug and Pete’s just had enough of all of this now and pulls him by the arms and slams their mouths together.

Pete hasn't kissed anyone in so long that his lips tingle the moment they touch Patrick's. Patrick's mouth is warm and his lips are thick and soft and he's being pretty reluctant, but he's kissing back. And then pulling back, eyes wide. 

“Oh shit.” Pete slaps his head, but his mouth still tingles and he wants to do it again, but he really can't.

“It's okay, Pete. I think that's been coming a while.” Patrick's hand is still on his shoulder, but Pete isn't okay with this because he's seen the Jaguar back in the parking lot, even if he hasn't seen Jonathan with his eyes. “You wanna bring Bronx over? When you're done we can talk about what happened.”

Pete nods dumbly. He feels sick for what he's done, but he's not sure why. They've both wanted this, he's not fucking stupid, but it really wasn't supposed to come out like this. There's no point wanting someone that's _with_ someone else.

Pete goes back across the hallway to pick up Bronx, who is waiting as patient as a kid can for Pete to come back. Pete gives him the thumbs up and smiles when Bronx fist pumps the air before rushing to Pete’s side.

“Alright, we better give Patrick the key because no doubt you'll need something at some point from this room.” Pete watches Patrick jump out of the way when Bronx comes running, their hands slapping quickly as he heads inside of the opposite apartment.

Patrick is eying him still and Pete feels his stomach flip inside like he's a fucking teenager. He tries to compose himself as he says goodbye, hears Bronx respond from inside as he walks away.

The meeting is boring, just as always. It's just talk of marketing for the next book, which is nearly finished. They want to do book signings and readings nearer the time, and Pete agrees to them now but he usually bails at some point.

He can't really think about those things when all he can think about is Patrick's fucking mouth and all he can hear is his stupid fucking voice singing. He decides he doesn't fucking care about Jonathan, and he doesn't care about breaking his own heart or sanity in the process. It's got to be worth it, it's got to feel better than it does now.

He goes back to the apartment after three hours in the city and knocks on Patrick's door. Patrick answers looking slightly less well put together than previously, but he's smiling so bright that Pete almost flinches.

Patrick tugs him in by the wrist and Pete can smell something sticky and sweet and he looks to the bomb-sight of a kitchen in alarm and then to Patrick. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bronx flopped on the couch watching TV, Penny curled up beside him.

“What exactly have you guys been doing?” Pete asks, slightly worried. 

“Making lemonade. My mom taught me and my siblings when I was a kid, so I thought I'd get the recipe out. I know it's like a ton of sugar, but he only had a small glass of it.” Patrick goes over to the refrigerator and pours the drink out of a pitcher before handing it over to Pete. “Try it, it's good.”

“It is, dad.” Bronx calls out from the couch. It is pretty decent, although at this point in the day, and with all that's happened, Pete would prefer it spiked with something stronger.

“You guys make good lemonade,” Pete says, smiling at Patrick. He feels better, actually, for going away for a few hours. He still feels stupid for smacking one on Patrick like that, but not like he's going to throw up any time soon.

“Thanks,” Patrick says. He's got that stupid fucking smile on his face again, like he knows what it does to Pete and he wants to wipe it off with his own lips. He can't though, because Bronx is peering at them now from over the arm of the couch and he should probably just get out before he does anymore damage.

“We should get out of your way,” he says instead, deliberately stepping backwards and trying not to trip over a guitar lead on the floor. The first time he'd been to Patrick's apartment and seen how tidy it was had been a fluke, because it's a clutter of instruments and wires nearly always scattered over the place ever since. “I'll come talk to you later, about, you know, earlier.”

Patrick nods and waves his goodbye to Bronx, seeing them off at the door. Later, when he's got Bronx bathed and sleepy in bed, he asks him if he likes Patrick.

“I prefer Penny,” Bronx says, staring up at Pete with his sleepy eyes. “But he's nice. He cooks good.”

“Yeah he does cook good.” Pete smiles, brushes his kid's hair back from his face. He's inherited Pete’s forehead, but with a better hairline, and Pete’s glad he won't have to suffer the horrific haircuts he did. “Sleep well, little man.”

He putters around the apartment for an hour of so. If Bronx is going to wake up and refuse to sleep again, it's nearly always in the hour just as he's put to bed. Thankfully he stays asleep tonight and Pete leaves the door on the latch as he heads on over to Patrick's with a thudding heart.

Patrick opens the door on the second knock, bunched up in his PJ's. “You either dress really well or really terribly, never anywhere in the middle,” Pete says as he steps inside. The apartment is dark, but there's a light coming from under the door of Patrick's bedroom and Pete’s nerves are making him a jittery mess.

“Coming from you that's pretty damn rich,” Patrick bites back, but he's smiling. Every time Pete takes a step toward him, Patrick takes one back, the smile on his face turning devious. Pete manages to get him the moment Patrick's back hits the counter behind him. Pete pins him there, hands either side of Patrick and closing in around him.

“Can I kiss you again?” Pete asks permission this time but Patrick just tugs on the collar of his t-shirt and twists his head up to press their lips together. Patrick's a good kisser, his mouth opens quick and he has enough bite to make Pete want to press him further into the counter. His mouth is hot and wet, his tongue sliding past Pete’s own lips to press inside. Pete can feel the brush of his eyelashes, can smell the soap on his skin from his shower and it's so solid and real, he'd forgotten how kissing could be like that.

Pete drops his hands from the counter and slides them up Patrick's t-shirt. His skin is hot and a little damp with sweat as his fingers stroke over his belly, pressing down into the waistband of his loose pants as Patrick bites down on his bottom lip. 

Pete slides his hand into Patrick's, his fingers tightening over Patrick's hand, it's warm in his grip if a little clammy. He tugs gently until Patrick gets the idea and he slowly backs his way out of the apartment, walking across the small hallway. Patrick's bare feet curl on the cold lobby floor and Pete walks him a little faster until his back is against his own door. 

He pushes it open and looks behind himself for any wandering six year olds, but Bronx's bedroom is still closed and so he tugs firmly until Patrick falls into his grip. Pete's hands slide to Patrick's shoulders, rubbing over the soft fabric of his t shirt. His eyes are wide but the color's shielded in the shadows of the apartment. Pete’s eyes drop down instead to Patrick's mouth, it's thick and upturned and Pete wants to fucking taste it.

"I want," Pete says, unsure about what he wants, but Patrick leans in, catching Pete’s lips with his teeth. His lips are soft and full, brushing against Pete’s own mouth when he softens his bites into kisses. Patrick's hand flutters for a few seconds against Pete's chest - just resting - before he pulls away with a small smile. 

"I want too." Patrick's words spill from his mouth as he drags his lips down against Pete’s throat. His heart is beating fast because he's not been with anyone, not since Ashlee. He's wanted Patrick, thought about him often when he jerked off, but it's different to having him here, small but so fucking solid between his hands. 

Pete starts walking backwards again, stumbling when Patrick's hands slide down to his hips. He gets his bedroom door open and turns so that Patrick's back is to the bed, and he pushes him gently until his knees hit the bed and he falls down onto it, elbows propping him up. Patrick smiles, sweet and genuine, wriggling until his legs are fully on the mattress. 

Pete sits on the bed next to Patrick, hand going to his neck to bring their heads together. He can feel Patrick's eyelashes against his cheek again and it tickles. He kisses down Patrick's jaw to beneath his ear. Patrick's skin is freshly washed and he can smell his shampoo and lotion. Patrick's still propped up on his elbows and Pete puts a hand to his chest, pushing down until Patrick falls back against the bed. 

Pete props himself up to look at Patrick. His chest is rising and falling with breaths that are getting heavier and heavier, but his eyes are soft and Pete leans down to kiss him, Patrick's mouth opening beneath his, receiving Pete's tongue and teasing it with his own. He's a good, delicate kisser and free with his tongue, Pete’s not sure he's kissed anyone like that in a long time. 

Pete skims his fingers gently against the pale strip of skin between Patrick's shirt and pajama pants. His skin is hot to touch and Pete rubs the pads of his fingers against his stomach, staring at Patrick as he walks his fingers up his heated warm skin beneath the clothes. 

"We can take it slow," Patrick says, pushing one hand against Pete's cheek as Pete continues to stroke under his shirt. Patrick's belly is soft with a slight paunch and it's different to what Pete's used to, what he normally likes. All the guys and most of the girls Pete's been with have been washboard firm; taut and bony, but Pete likes the gives under his fingers right now. 

He leans down to kiss Patrick again, and Patrick kisses back again; wet and with a tease of his tongue. Pete sighs against him, pressing his hand down firm, past the thin layer of fat until Patrick pushes up against him. 

"I don't want to take it slow, I want..." Pete looks down at Patrick. He's still dressed, but his shirt has rucked up from Pete's movements and Pete leans down, kisses at his belly, traces the tip of his tongue into Patrick's belly button and smirks when Patrick's hips rise from the bed. 

"Whatever you want; we can do whatever you like." Patrick lifts his legs, spreading his thighs until they settle each side of Pete. It's sluttier than what Pete expected from him, but not unwelcome. "You decide." 

"I haven't fucked anyone in the ass for a real long time, but I'd like to do that. I'd like to fuck you." Pete lifts up, settling over Patrick until he grinds down against him, their clothed dicks finally getting a bit of friction. 

"Yeah, I'd like that too." Patrick throws his head back, biting his lip. Pete still rides their cocks together, but he leans down and grazes his teeth over Patrick's throat, feels the slightest edge of stubble against his lips. 

Pete hasn't fucked anyone in so long, his time with Ashlee at the end had been dire; pity fucks on both ends. Pete feels the anxiety rise until Patrick takes his hands in his and brings them to his mouth. He presses kisses to Pete’s knuckles, his blond hair falling across his eyes. Pete takes a breath, shutting his eyes before opening them. 

"I haven't-- not anything since Ashlee." Pete wishes he said nothing because this has got to be a boner killer, talking about his ex-wife right when he's about to fuck someone new for the first time. Patrick just presses his lips together, whitening them out before he pushes at Pete enough so they're sitting opposite each other.

"Then let me take care of you." Patrick sits on his knees but his warm hands slide under Pete's shirt, tugging at the material until Pete raises his arms and allows Patrick to pull it from his body. “Let me make this good.”

He gets Patrick naked and himself free of his jeans and then just stares. Patrick's pale even in the darkness of his bedroom, and he turns his lamp on to see more of him; Pete's vain and he doesn't like fucking in the dark. Pete can't stop staring at Patrick, whose thighs are thick and smooth, spread open, and so very fucking pale. Pete rests a hand on one of them, feels the heat of his skin against his palm and just breathes it all in.

"Condom?" Patrick asks, laying his hand on Pete's. His hands are a little smaller than Pete's, and he threads their fingers together briefly before Pete turns away, his hand slipping from Patrick's leg. 

It takes a while to find the condoms. He'd dumped some in the drawer when he moved in, but they remained at the back, hidden as he filled the drawer with other pieces of junk over the months. Eventually he finds a strip of them, as well as some lube and throws them both to Patrick.

He rolls back onto the bed and Patrick just smiles at him with pink cheeks, picking up the lube and flicking open the cap. He drizzles it onto his fingers and rubs it over the pads before pressing his hand between his legs.

Pete watches for a few seconds, sees Patrick's pale fingers breach his body, two of them sliding in and out. Patrick spreads his legs wider and Pete knows this is a show, that it's all for him and his eyes raise to Patrick's, who is staring at him, biting his lip and turning various shades of pink _everywhere_. 

Pete picks up the lube and pours a small amount into his palm before curling it around Patrick's cock. Patrick bucks up into his grip, the wet slide of Pete's hand over his sensitive skin heats him up and Patrick raises his mouth to press their lips together. Silencing whatever noise either of them want to make.

Pete jacks Patrick slowly, watching Patrick's face and then his own hand before his eyes drift to where Patrick's fucking himself slowly with three fingers. Pete wants to touch him there too and his hand drops Patrick's hard cock, brushing down past his balls until their knuckles meet. 

Patrick slides two of his fingers out, spreading his ass cheeks slightly and Pete feels his heart shudder at the sight before he pushes two of his own fingers inside. Patrick is hot and tight, clenching around Pete's fingers as they slide their fingers together. Patrick rubs at his own rim and Pete presses in further. The two of them fucking him in a gentle rhythm. 

Patrick makes soft little noises and bites at his lips as they finger fuck him together. The clench and slide of his own digits against Patrick's is hot as anything and he grinds himself against Patrick's thigh, desperate for some kind of touch.

“Ready to take it further?” Patrick asks, pulling away from Pete's mouth. Pete feels Patrick's fingers slide against his own one last time, slipping out of his opening and Pete moves his own hand away. Patrick is already wrecked; his skin flushed and beading with sweat. Pete watches trickles of it slide between Patrick's thighs and suppresses a low groan. 

Pete nods his head. He's aware that his kid is sleeping over; that they're going to have to be quiet with this, but Patrick's kept his voice at a whisper the entire time so he must understand. Patrick reaches out for the strip of condoms, tearing one off and holding it between his teeth as he grabs the lube. 

Patrick efficient with this, and Pete puts that down to being in a relationship at the moment, he must do this every time Jonathan stays over. He doesn't want to think about that right now; Patrick is his, if only for tonight. 

Patrick squeezes a small amount of lube onto his fingers before motioning Pete over. Pete crawls on his knees, jumping when Patrick smears the slick over the tip of Pete's cock. He's hardly had his cock touched yet and he bucks up into Patrick's grip. He's going to have to work so hard to keep himself from shooting off at the first moment.

"A little lube inside the condom makes it feel tons better," Patrick gives an explanation to his actions, spitting out the edge of the foil wrapper and gently taking the rubber and smoothing it down over Pete's cock. 

"I'll have to remember that." Pete stares down dumbly at his dick before up at Patrick. “How do we?” Pete asks, touching the back of his hand to Patrick's damp cheek. 

"I could ride you? I'd like to, I'd really like to ride you.” Patrick's cheeks heat up at his own words and he looks at Pete timidly, running his hand through his bangs as if he's suddenly nervous. Pete just nods his head before wriggling up the bed, his back straight against the headboard. 

Patrick crawls over him, thighs spread over Pete's legs. Patrick's chin brushes Pete's nose as he reaches behind himself, lining Pete's dick up with his asshole. Pete moves his hands down to curve over the smooth rounds of Patrick's buttocks and pushes Patrick down gently. He's planning to ease Patrick down slowly, but Patrick pushes through it until he's impaled and balancing on Pete's balls. 

"Don't move," Pete says, not breathing in case he starts to go off. Patrick nods his head, resting his forehead against Pete's throat, not moving and not clenching, just remaining deeply rooted. “I really don't wanna blow my load right now.”

Patrick laughs, inadvertently clenching and Pete groans, bucking up and feeling the warmth of Patrick's ass against his thighs. Patrick lifts his head from Pete's neck. His skin is flushed, hair dark with sweat and Pete's hands slide across Patrick's damp skin. He feels beads of sweat trickling down Patrick's back and he moves his hands, squeezing at Patrick's hips. 

Patrick slowly starts to move, rocking back and forth with his hands tight to the bars of the headboard either side of Pete’s head. The circling of his hips is dirty and slow and Pete bucks up again as he hears Patrick's breath catch. He can't look away from Patrick's eyes, dark and focused on his own as he fucks himself on Pete's cock.

They stay like that for a while. Patrick doing most of the work, grinding himself down on Pete's cock, working it in and out of his body. Pete lets it happen, focused on the constant rise and fall of Patrick's warm, tight body. Damp strands of hair fall across Patrick's face, but Pete pushes them away, cupping Patrick's face in his hands.

Pete feels Patrick start to squirm faster in little tight movements, wet noises bubbling from his mouth, pressing against Pete's jaw. He stops riding abruptly, his cock hard and rubbing between their bodies as he tries to focus his breathing.

"Wanna feel you on top of me," Patrick says. He runs a hand through his own hair, pushing it back out of his face again before sliding his hand around Pete's neck. Pete's still throbbing deep inside Patrick's ass. Not fucking up but just feeling him tight and clenched, a slick friction he hasn't felt in so long. 

When Pete nods Patrick falls back from his lap. Pete grips is own cock, holding it at the base, fingers against the edge of the condom as he stares at Patrick. Patrick lays back against the pillows, damp and red as he shoves a pillow under his hips, spreading his legs wide. His cock is full and heavy and Patrick plays with it between loose fingers, quirking his eyebrows when Pete remains rooted. 

"Come on, Pete. Fuck me like you want. Fuck me like I need it." Patrick's fingers dip down to spread his cheeks and Pete sees what he wants, sees where he needs to be and falls on top of Patrick. He's shaking more from arousal now; he hasn't fucked in so long and the feelings are intense.

Patrick's legs rise to curl over Pete's hips and he draws him back into his body. He's looser now, easier to thrust into than before and Pete manages a kind of rhythm. Every fuck of his hips against Patrick's leaves Patrick gasping, squirming beneath him with his cock hard and leaking as it remains trapped between their bellies. They're trying to be quiet but there's no hushing the damp slap of Pete’s hips against the tops of Patrick's thighs.

Patrick's hands don't stop moving, fingers digging into his shoulders, pressing in a damp slide against his spine before gripping Pete's ass and pulling him deeper. Eventually his hands slip from Pete’s body to fist the sheets either side of his raised hips, bracing his weight on his elbows as he leans up to kiss Pete before the weight is too much and he falls back down again. When Patrick comes it's with his head thrown back and his body arched underneath Pete, one hand fisting his own cock. 

Pete gently thrusts into Patrick, not there himself but aware that Patrick's probably oversensitive. He's not quite sure how he's managed to hold on this long, probably through sheer will. Screwing Patrick has been on his to do list for months now and he doesn't want to let go. Patrick's ass convulses around him and Pete continues sliding his cock in and out of the wet heat. 

"Hey." Patrick pushes at Pete's shoulder, still pinned beneath Pete. He's stopped clenching his ass now and Pete looks down at him, kisses his jaw and pulls out reluctantly when Patrick continues pushing at him. "I have an idea." 

Pete sits back, a little confused. At this point he's so hard it's painful, but Patrick pushes him back until he's flat to the pillows, his fingers pulling at the condom until Pete's unsheathed. The head of his cock shines wetly from lube and precome and Patrick smiles at him, red-cheeked and damp haired. He looks debauched, but sated and he smiles just one more time before he drops down and starts sucking on Pete's cock. 

Pete's not got head in so long; Ash didn't like it and he'd never make her, but it's good, Patrick's good and there's nothing quite like getting his dick sucked. Patrick's mouth is hot and slick, tightens when he sucks on the head before loosening as he slurps down the shaft. He noses at Pete's balls before taking him down deep, inching down until his nose is brushing the dark hair at the base. Pete's never been deep-throated before, and his hands rise to Patrick's hair when Patrick's fingers are replaced with more of his mouth and he makes it past Patrick's throat. 

“Pull my hair," Patrick says, pulling off quickly when he sees Pete hesitating. His mouth is swollen and his voice catches as he whispers. He licks at Pete's cock in a tease, like the taste of lube, precome and latex is something he desires. "I fucking love it." 

Pete's hands tangle in Patrick's hair, not sure if Patrick's talking about having his hair pulled or sucking cock, either way is fine with Pete as he tightens his fingers. Patrick slides back down onto his dick, wet mouth making hot noises as he takes Pete further and further. Patrick's throat works around him as Pete fucks up into his mouth. 

He's drooling, but his eyes are bright and shining as he stares at Pete. His hands tighten in Patrick's hair, enough that it must hurt but Patrick says nothing of complaint, just moans softly, adding to the sensation. 

"Patrick, fuck, I gotta come," Pete warns, expecting Patrick to pull away and finish Pete off with his hand. But he just starts swallowing again and Pete comes thick and fast into the soft back of Patrick's throat. Patrick pulls back, lapping at Pete's cock until it slides wetly from his mouth before he sits up. 

Pete can't really think, is only just about able to breath and uncurl his toes from where they tightened with the intensity of orgasm. He's not come like that in so long and he feels loose in bones and brains as Patrick slides up next to him, curling up into Pete's side. 

"Fucking wow," Pete says. He feels Patrick huff out a laugh against his neck, his hand sliding to Pete's chest. Patrick's fingers play on his chest, rubbing in gently movements over the sensitive skin. When it starts to irritate, Pete touches his own hand to Patrick's fingers, stilling him. 

“Do you-- should I go?” Patrick asks, dropping his hand away but Pete shakes his head and pulls him in closer. His arm goes over Patrick's shoulder, pulling him in close. Patrick falls against him, pressing his face to Pete’s skin. 

"Stay the night," Pete says. He wants him to stay forever after discovering Patrick's mouth and it's uses, but he just pulls him closer again, feels Patrick relax naked and warm against him. 

 

Pete has an alarm set on the days that Bronx is here. Mostly because kindergarten starts earlier than either would like and they'd be late every time otherwise. It also means that Pete's jolted awake from his sleep every fucking time and he rolls over to grab his phone and turn it off like always. This time his elbow makes a sharp connection with another body and he jumps back until he sees Patrick staring wide eyed, hand raising to his cheek.

"Shit," Pete says, dropping the phone once he's silenced it and cupping his hands over Patrick's face. Patrick looks confused and still half-asleep, like the only reason he's awake is because Pete bashed his elbow into his face. Pete kisses him softly just below his mouth as an apology, and Patrick rolls in and curls up against him. 

"Haven't been awake at this time since high school," Patrick whispers with his face to Pete's neck. Pete holds him close, hand against the back of Patrick's head, stroking his hair. He wants to stay like this, Patrick warm and sleepy in his bed and arms, but he can't. He has to get up before Bronx runs in and finds them. 

"Babe, I have to get the kid ready," Pete rolls out from under Patrick into the chill of the bedroom. Patrick is all body heat and sleepy warmth and Pete hates leaving it for the real world. He wishes they'd done this on a Monday or any other day where he didn't have morning commitments.

Patrick rolls onto his stomach, eyes half shielded by his hair and his arms. Pete’s never seen him like this before, and he's already craving lazy mornings with him. “Did you seriously just call me babe?”

“After last night, pretty sure I can call you what I want.” Now that they've fucked, now that Pete’s over that hurdle, he's got a bit more swagger. It could be down to simply getting laid, but it's been a big step from then to now and he's allowed to preen a little.

Patrick just raises his eyebrow, rubbing at his cheek where Pete elbowed him before sitting up, gripping the sheets in his hand and bunching them over his chest. Pete walks over to the bed and gently pushes at Patrick's shoulders until he falls back to the bed again.

“Stay in here, please. Fucking stay in my bed until I get back, alright?” It's not a threat, more a plead really and so Patrick nods his head and shuts his eyes. His lips twitch when Pete kisses his cheek, but he doesn't try and pull him back into the bed. “Stay here till I'm back?”

Patrick makes an unintelligible noise which is possibly a yes, which Pete is going to take for a yes, and he leans down to kiss Patrick on the forehead again before climbing from the bed and finding some clothes.

Bronx is always pretty dopey in the mornings and so Pete just rushes him through his motions, makes him breakfast and then watches him eat half of it before he realizes they're pushed for time and he rushes them out the door.

When he gets back to the apartment, Patrick isn't waiting for him in bed, but he's dressed and flicking through one of Pete’s earlier books on the couch. He says he has plans to read them all one day, but so far he's been terrible at following through on that statement.

“Hey, I thought you'd still be in bed,” Pete says, collapsing on the couch next to him. Patrick gives a small smile, leaning in to kiss Pete’s cheek. Pete wants this forever now, or at least until they grow bored of each other. 

“I was awake, plus I needed to check up on Penny, she wasn't pleased about being left alone last night.” Patrick closes the book and smiles at Pete. He gets a flash of the night before, Patrick's pale thighs stretched in the moonlight, the red of his lips over Pete’s cock and he has to look away.

“So about last night, it was pretty hot.” Pete's not sure if it's because it's so fresh in his memory, but last night has definitely made it into his top five fucks. The skill of Patrick's mouth, the tightness of his ass, all of it was amazing.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, with a nod and a smile. “I liked it too.”

“But we need to talk about things, because I have a habit of not doing that. The last time I fucked without thinking it through I got a girl pregnant. That turned out mostly well in terms of being a father, but the rest of it not so much.” Pete doesn't want to do this, and if Bronx wasn't in the picture he probably wouldn't, but he can't have his life turn into another car wreck when he has someone to take care of. 

Patrick's eyebrows curl in on themselves, and he scratches the side of his head lightly. “You're not going to get me pregnant,” Patrick says. “I can guarantee you that.”

“Well yeah, I know.” Pete licks at his lips and tries not to let last night cloud his judgment too much. “But you have a boyfriend, and I don't want to involve myself or my son in this if you can't figure out who or what you want.”

“I want you,” Patrick says it like it's obvious, biting his lip before carrying on. “I want to be with you but it's complicated.”

“Yeah because your boyfriend has a wife.” Pete rolls his eyes, tugging his hand through his hair. “You seem like a real decent kid, Patrick. I have a hard time working out why exactly you're with him.”

Patrick doesn't answer for a while, just stares down at his hands. Pete looks down at the pale white fingers, watches Patrick tap them nervously against his knee. “He's not my boyfriend, we just have an arrangement.”

“What?” Pete asks, brain freezing up. “Like fuck buddies?”

“No. Like a financial agreement; like he pays me money.” Patrick's face is red under his bangs and he doesn't look up once. Pete just stares at him mostly in shock. “To be with him.”

“ _What_?”

“It's not a relationship, it's just a business transaction. There's no love involved, believe me.” Pete can't quite make sense of this. The Patrick he knows, he has a dark side but not like this, he wouldn't do that, not for money. He's not that kind of person, he's got fucking morals.

“If it's just a business transaction then why not just end it?” Pete feels queasy. This isn't what he expected. He knew Patrick was in over his head in this relationship, knew it was complicated, but not this.

“I can't. He'll make it difficult for me. He has videos of me; photos of me. He could let everyone know what I've done, he already threatened to when he showed up at McCoy's. And that—Pete, this is really complicated. There's more, but I don't--” Patrick looks down at the last part, eyes sliding to the door like he's plotting his getaway as he cuts himself off.

“Well, then what's the other half? I can't imagine it being any worse than that,” Pete says and he sees Patrick's face screw up. This is far from what he expected. They were going to talk about ending it with Jonathan and then cuddle. Pete was going to get Patrick to cook them breakfast. This isn't what he planned out.

“I don't want to tell you, please don't make me tell you.” Patrick starts tugging on his hair and Pete just sighs, feeling a little bit sick over what he's hearing. He goes to put his hand on Patrick's jerking knee but drops it at the last minute. 

“Patrick, you can't fucking bail on this now, not when I already know half of this fucking story.” Pete has an inkling where this is going now from Patrick's reaction, but he doesn't want to think further, doesn't want it to be true. The Patrick he's grown to know wouldn't do _that_. 

“When I first came to LA it was really hard breaking into the scene. I needed to build up my portfolio, but to do that you need to get employed and with no experience it was really difficult. In the end I was offered a job that meant I could pretty much be a studio musician for free and subsidize it with the other work.”

“What are you saying you did?” Pete grits out, turning to look at Patrick, who was refusing to look up from his own knees.

“What do you think, Pete?” Patrick is red faced and his voice is straining. “I wasn't walking the streets or anything. I worked for an agency, the clients went through security checks.”

“You were a hooker?” Pete needs to know for sure that they're on the same page – that this isn't some crazy huge misunderstanding – he hopes beyond hope that he's just got it all mixed up, but that's looking less and less likely.

“I prefer escort. I didn't always, you know. Sometimes they just wanted company.” Patrick hasn't looked up since he started talking and Pete feels sick. He thinks about what they did last night, thinks about Patrick's talented little mouth and feels his chest burn in anger. “It started getting more than I could cope with though. The agency stopped listening to what my limits were, they kept sending me to assholes. And Jonathan, he was one of my regular clients. He was nice and he knew I was having a hard time so he made an offer and I accepted and that was thirteen months ago and it's been like this since.”

Pete feels sick but tries to take it all in. It was so much easier when he thought Patrick was just a lonely cheat. He knew he didn't love Jonathan, that there was a wife and other things going on, but he hadn't ever expected this. Not until a few minutes ago.

His mind keeps switching to last night; Patrick taking his cock, the way he moaned, the little tricks of his tongue. Pete’s glad that he used a condom, that he wasn't that dumb. Patrick touches his hand, but Pete pulls away. 

“Pete, please,” Patrick says but Pete just shakes his head. He feels sick thinking about it, but he can't keep his mind off it. Patrick isn't like that, he tells himself, even if he very obviously is. “This is why I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to lose whatever it is we have over something I used to do.”

“Good job I rebounded with a fucking whore, it's what you're there for, right?” He's mostly saying it as self-pity, but also as a fuck you to Patrick who's had him fooled all this time. He looks up in time to see the hurt cloud over in Patrick's eyes and he moves his hand away. 

“Don't call me that,” Patrick says, like it's not fucking true. Pete stares at him levelly until Patrick backs down, looking away like a kicked puppy. “I'm going to go.” Patrick stands up, fingers shaking at his sides as he leaves the apartment. Pete watches him leave, watches his door slam shut and listens until he hears the slide of Patrick's own closing before he turns away, kicking out at the coffee table in dark frustration.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments!
> 
> Again, I hope you enjoy :)

“So I had a boyfriend for about nine hours,” Pete says to Gabe over the phone a few hours later. He still feels ill about what Patrick told him. He's still furious about everything that's happened; feels like a fucking idiot for not realizing or picking up on some pretty obvious signs.

“Oh yeah. What you do this time?” Gabe snorts and Pete just fumes silently, kicking out at the coffee table. 

“Remember the neighbor I told you about?” He starts and Gabe audibly questions him before he recalls the conversation.

“The one with the weekend daddy?” Gabe's voice comes through on a laugh, like the entire situation is hilarious to him. Pete just digs the nails of his free hand into his knee, biting down through the denim.

“More like weekend sugar daddy.” Pete explains what went down and Gabe listens, adding useless input until Pete hangs up in frustration. He should be writing the ending to his book, it's already drafted out and won't take much more now, but he can't think past what happened today. He just thought for the first time in a really long while that he was going to get what he wanted. Then it all got fucked up again.

By lunchtime he gets bored of the feelings curling hot and nasty in his chest and throws open his door and knocks on Patrick's. Patrick opens it nearly immediately, looking small and soft and nothing like what he really is as he stares blankly at Pete's face.

“Are you clean?” Pete asks, and he sees Patrick's cheeks redden in either anger or embarrassment, Pete can't tell. “Because we had sex last night before I found out what you are and I need to know whether I need to be tested.”

“I told you I don't do that anymore,” Patrick says quietly. His soft mouth opens like he wants to say more and Pete watches his Adam's apple flex in his throat. “And we used a condom, Pete. You couldn't catch anything.”

“You're still paid for your services, so I'm pretty sure that still makes you a whore.” Pete’s words are nasty, and they're meant to be but he's still not prepared for the effect they have on Patrick. His face squashes up for a few seconds before he straightens it out, his arms crossed over his chest.

“This is why I didn't say anything. I didn't want you to think those things about me.” Patrick unlocks his arms from his chest and tries to reach out for Pete, but Pete takes a step back. He's not even crossed the threshold of the apartment and he refuses to go further. “Pete, please.”

“Are you fucking clean?” Pete asks. He wants to tell Patrick he's sorry – to forget it – but he can't because all he can think about is Patrick servicing people, playing people for money. “I hope you weren't expecting me to pay you for last night, either. You weren't that good.” 

“I don't want your fucking money.” Patrick drops the hurt expression now and is full-out pissed. Pete has to look away from the stony set of Patrick's glare. Neither speak for a few seconds, before Patrick's voice comes in softer again. “That's not what it was to me.”

“I just want to forget it ever happened.” Pete shuts his eyes and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. If he could go back to this time yesterday, when he wasn't even talking to Patrick, that would be fantastic. 

“I'm clean and we used protection, Pete. You don't have to worry about that.” Patrick's voice is low, barely above a whisper. Pete takes his hand away from his face to stare at Patrick. He looks sad and small, but that's his own fault. It's not Pete’s problem; it _can't_ be his problem. 

“Crisis averted then,” Pete says, he hears Patrick calling his name softly but he just shakes his head and turns to go back home.

 

It's surprisingly easy to throw himself back into his own life and out of Patrick's. It's bad at night when he has nothing else, but then he'll go down to the parking lot and see the gold Jag parked and all his anger comes back and he throws himself into writing the last of his book.

Sending the final draft off is a relief that he always forgets every time he does it. He goes out celebrating with Gabe and some other long-neglected friends. He hates Tuesday nights the most, remembers the fun he had down at McCoy's bar listening to Patrick's set. He watches Patrick come home after sometimes, flinches back from his own peephole when he sees Patrick stare at his door hesitantly before disappearing into his own apartment.

“If you were only together for a night I don't get what you're so hung up on. The rebound never works out, man,” Gabe tells him. They've got premises for the bar now, which Pete can't quite believe. He knows he's probably going to regret going into business with his friend, but well, he does know a lot of good lawyers if it all goes to shit.

“Nah,” Pete says, falling away from his thoughts. “I suffered months of sexual tension for that one night.” Pete rubs his head and then puffs exasperatedly. “And he's still fucking that douchebag.”

Gabe shrugs like this is nothing. “So? If you're not doing him then why would he give it up?”

“He's better than that.” Pete crosses his arms. He thinks he possibly sounds like his parents, saying shit like that, but it's _true_. “He was more than just a rebound.”

“Then I'm sorry it didn't work out.” Gabe sounds genuine so Pete gives him the best smile he can do right now. It's fake, they both know that, but Pete's glad he can depend on Gabe to not take it any further and let him get over this one by himself.

 

It's a Saturday afternoon when Pete’s been out signing leases for the bar that he rushes into the elevator and sees Patrick and Jonathan already inside. Patrick's face heats up straight away and he looks down at his feet. Pete stares at him, he hasn't seen him outside of the peephole since they fell out. He looks tired and pale – worn out – and Pete gets splashes of guilt slide around. The anger's mostly faded really and he feels bad about the things he said.

“I guess you finally figured out what he really is,” Jonathan says, nasty and smug. Pete watches Patrick flinch as Jonathan's hand clasps him on the back of his neck, his fingers pressing down hard. “Worth every dollar on some days.”

Pete wants to ask about the other days, but he's not that cruel. Not when he sees the fury on Patrick's face, written into the hard set of his features as he pulls out of Jonathan's grip and stands away from the two of them. The elevator makes it's slow slug up to their level and when it jolts to a stop Patrick is the first out, key in hand. By the time Pete's reached his own door, Patrick has slammed his shut. 

Pete doesn't care to hear the screaming and the shouting coming from Patrick's apartment that afternoon. Patrick's always been so mild-mannered really, but Pete can hear that it's his voice doing most of the work. He has to stay out of it, so he turns the volume on his TV up and watches Indiana Jones so loud that Harrison Ford is screaming at him.

The voices in Patrick's apartment fade out after a few hours and Pete goes out to the bar, to check up on Gabe, and the builders. When he gets back, the Jaguar is gone, but so is Patrick's car. 

He doesn't hear anymore screaming or shouting for the next few days, and Jonathan's car stays away; back to his wife and job. Patrick's door opens and closes every so often but Pete doesn't bother looking anymore, he's trying to get over it. 

 

He's just coming back from a final meeting about the book when he hears noises coming from Patrick's door. He looks around briefly before going over and pressing his ear to the door. It's a high pitched snuffling sound that Pete realizes after a few confused seconds is Penny.

Pete knocks on the door, knowing he won't get an answer. Patrick's close with his dog; fusses and spoils her, takes her down to the studio if he's with familiar clientele. He's even taken her to Travie's before when she'd been particularly clingy that day.

There's no response and Penny is still crying when Pete calls out to her. He goes back into his own apartment quickly, grabbing the key Patrick gave him as a spare before unlocking the door.

Penny rushes out to him straight away, her tiny black snout pressing against his neck when he picks her up. He looks around Patrick's apartment, but it's completely empty. A brief look in the bedroom shows that the bed is made and untouched. Pete puts some food out for Penny and she eats it up right away. Pete guesses she's been alone all night and he starts to worry.

“Where's your daddy, huh?” he asks Penny when she's finished eating and she yaps sharply in his ear. He shushes her, petting the soft fur and brings his phone out of his pocket. He scrolls through his contacts until he gets to Patrick's number.

Patrick doesn't answer his phone, and it just rolls on to voicemail so Pete hangs up, looking down at Penny, who was whining softly under her breath. He goes back to his own apartment with the dog; when Patrick finally gets back, he'll come and get her, Pete’s certain.

He assumes the knock to his door two hours later will be Patrick claiming his dog with a long rambling excuse, but instead it's Joe from upstairs, looking more than slightly frazzled. They haven't really spoken much, not since the Christmas party; hellos and amiable useless chatter in the lobby, but not much else.

“Hey man,” Pete says, noticing Joe's eyes drawing down to Penny at his feet. “Alright?”

“Small blonde Pomeranian-- Patrick's dog?” Joe asks, and Pete just nods his head. “Right. Okay to cut a long story short, this morning I found Patrick beat up behind the building-- he's okay. Well not really, he's pretty badly bruised up but he's in the hospital right now. He's not been conscious much, but he keeps asking for Penny when he is.”

Pete tries to take it all in but the moment he heard the word _hospital_ his mind went into a panic. “What happened?”

Joe shakes his head. “He isn't saying. I know you guys are friends, and there wasn't a contact number for him so I thought you'd want to go see him. He's in surgery now, but he'll be out soon.” Joe runs a hand through his hair, looking exhausted.

“Yeah, I'll go be with him.” Pete is flailing inside, but he manages to get details from Joe about where Patrick is. They wouldn't tell Joe much, but he was taken to the OR for surgery on his leg, but he'd be out of it soon. Pete thanks Joe, tells him to get some sleep as he rushes down to the parking lot.

 

He takes Penny with him down to his car. He could stick her in his own apartment, but he didn't want her anymore upset and she'd probably cheer Patrick up if he'd been asking for her. “Okay girl, you're going to have to hide in here till we find Patrick, alright? Pretty sure dogs aren't welcome here.”

Pete gently puts her in his backpack, and mentally crosses his fingers that she doesn't start yapping the moment they walk into the hospital. He keeps it unzipped and holds the bag in his hand as he walks through the double doors.

Pete knows he has charm somewhere inside him despite not using it for a long time, and he manages to flirt his way to general recovery. He gets there without a peep from Penny, whose dark eyes shine up at him from inside the bag. He winks at her before he walks as inconspicuously as possible past the rooms until he sees Patrick's.

Patrick's face is a blend of purple and blue; one eye beaten hard enough it doesn't open. There's a large white bandage in his hair just behind his ear, and his lip is split open. The further into the room Pete goes, the more he sees. He's sitting stiffly, propped up against the pillows with his leg straightened out and set in a heavy cast.

“Pete,” Patrick says and when he lifts his head, Pete sees purple bruises behind his ears; peppered fingertips from a throttling. He feels sick, almost dropping the bag until Penny finally starts squeaking. Patrick's eyes light up when she jumps out the bag and onto his lap. 

Pete watches silently as Patrick fusses Penny, smiling and wincing as she licks at his face, her feathery tail wagging behind her. Patrick's entire body looks like it's been dragged underneath a truck, but the grazes on his knuckles show that he must've got in a few shots himself.

“What the fuck happened?” Pete asks. He sees a chair by the side of the bed, but forgoes it to sit gingerly on the corner of the bed. Patrick looks down, at Penny curling up in his lap, and deliberately not at Pete. Pete touches his hand to Patrick's hair; dirty and mussed. He brushes his fingers through the strands, not looking away as Patrick flinches at the touch before settling down. “Was it Jonathan? Did he do this?”

“I've been trying to end the agreement for months now, but he wouldn't leave. I needed him to get so fucking pissed he'd never want to see me again.” Patrick looks up briefly before his eyes flutter away again, his hands shaking in Penny's fur. “So I went to Pasadena and I told his wife everything. And then I took a crowbar to his car.” 

“I think I can guess which part pissed him off more,” Pete says and a flicker of a smile stretches over Patrick's lips. It splits the cut open but he just licks away the blood. “So he beat you up as some kind of revenge?”

“At least I got him to leave me alone?” Patrick tries making a joke but it falls flat, and the one eye that's open closes as his face squeezes up. Pete shushes him when he sees that Patrick's close to the edge. He brushes his hand through his hair and waits for Patrick to try and settle back down. “He kept bringing his friends over. He had them in my apartment expecting me to _do_ things. And he wouldn't leave, even when I begged. I don't like having to beg.”

“Shhh, it's alright.” Pete fights back down what he feels inside. He was only a few fucking feet away from this all and he had no idea. Patrick's been elusive recently, stayed out of Pete’s way. Pete thought it was because of the fight, for him it was because he hated everything that Patrick had kept hidden, but he likes to think if he'd have known he would have stopped whatever was going on. “Why didn't you come to me for help?”

“I can fix my own fucking problems,” Patrick says. If he wasn't so black and blue, Pete knows he'd be flushing right about now; flustered and angry. He looks at Pete again, like he's asking a question. “I'm sorry for not telling you the truth, I didn't want you--”

“It's over, man. With Jonathan out of your life, you've left that part behind now, right?” Pete takes his hand from Patrick's hair, drops them loosely to his lap as he waits for his answer.

“It was over for me months ago,” Patrick says. “I tried getting him to leave way before we slept together. I was just going through the motions with him. I didn't mean to hurt you, or lie to you.”

“Patrick, please shut up.” Pete presses his finger to Patrick's lips, trying not to press down on any place that will hurt. “If what you did before Jonathan and what you did with Jonathan stays in the past, then we're okay. Platonically at least”

“I'm never doing it again,” Patrick says. Pete believes him and pulls away. “Can you get a doctor or nurse, I want to leave.”

“You just had surgery, man. Wait a day or so.” Pete knows there's more bruising than what he can see, but Patrick just shrugs one shoulder, his face screwing up and he breathes heavy for a few seconds before relenting.

“Maybe just one night.” He goes to sit up, the first time since Pete’s been here, and then exhales sharply. “Fucking bruised ribs, man.”

“He really went in on you, huh?” Pete looks him over. Patrick's a lot smaller than Jonathan, but about twenty years younger and he's got some fight in him, Pete’s seen in flare up on occasion. Pete’s not sure if Patrick just laid back and took the punches or anger really spurred Jonathan on.

“He had some help,” Patrick says, focusing his attention back down to Penny who was sleeping on his lap, content to be with her owner for now. Patrick doesn't say anything else, even when Pete stands there waiting for more. 

“Alright, I'm going to let you get some rest. I'll be back tomorrow, okay?” he says. Patrick looks up at him with eyes that are a little wet and Pete presses his fingers against the one good eye, catches the damp. “Shh. Don't get upset. I'll be back with Penny when I can.”

If Patrick's ribs didn't hurt so much, Pete’s sure he'd start crying more. Instead he just sniffles softly as he wraps his own fingers around Pete’s and pushes them from his face. “Thank you.”

Pete bundles Penny back up, no longer bothering to hide her in the bag now that they're leaving. She whines a little at being pulled from Patrick, who himself looks to be a few seconds from whining over having her removed. Pete leaves before they make a scene.

 

When Pete gets back to the hospital the next day the doctor he finds is less than thrilled about Patrick demanding to leave AMA, but there's nothing really keeping him in. Once the paperwork is filled in and they're scolded for bringing a dog into the hospital, Pete helps Patrick dress, glad that he picked up loose pajama pants when they only just manage to get them over the cast.

He helps Patrick removes the hospital gown, but flinches when he sees the bruising on his torso. There's the print of someone's boot over his ribs and the marks of fingertips across the tops of his arms from where he was held in place. Pete has questions and his fingers shake with fury as he tries to help, but he keeps his comments to himself for the time being. 

The doc has to wheel Patrick to the door for some policy, but it's a big help. Patrick struggles with the crutches, especially with a banged up body and a broken leg. In the end, Pete has Patrick under one arm and Penny under the other and they manage a painful shuffle-hop all the way to the car.

The drive back to the apartment is silent but Pete watches Patrick in the rearview mirror, tries to catch his eye, but Patrick just stares out the window and cuddles Penny into his lap.

Getting him up into the apartment is another workout and Pete’s sweating and breathing heavy by the time they make it to the elevator. Patrick just rests his head lightly against Pete’s shoulder, sagging and clearly in pain. Pete steers Patrick out of the elevator with relative ease, but nearly drops him when Patrick tries to go left to his own door. He has to drop Penny's leash to steady Patrick, who looks both pissed off and confused. 

“You're staying with me. I'm not letting you go back there until I know Jonathan's not coming back for round two.” Pete unlocks his own door, stepping back as Penny skips over the threshold, nose in the air. Pete carefully helps Patrick down onto the couch, wincing when he sees Patrick's face squeeze up in pain. Pete knows from experience that bashed up ribs are killer. 

“I can deal with Jonathan if he tries anything.” Patrick drops his head to the back of the couch, eyes shutting as he tries to breathe shallowly through the pain. Pete watches carefully without saying anything for a few seconds.

“And how're you going to do that in this condition?” Pete sets the bag down. The crutches are still in the car, but he can go and get them later when Patrick's asleep. Pete sits down next to Patrick, touching his hand when Patrick opens his eyes.

“He's got ammunition on me, I've got some on him.” Patrick looks away when Pete scratches at his own head, like he's aware of what Pete’s thinking. “He has photos and videos of me, you know, doing _things_. If he comes back it'd be by holding those against me, threatening to send them to my family, friends and work.”

Pete feels sick again. He's been in deep shit before, but never anything like this. He never liked Jonathan, thought he was a dirty old sleaze for his relationship with Patrick, but he'd never expect him capable of this.

“He also knows you wrecked his car,” Pete says. Patrick could get into serious trouble with that. Pete knows some good lawyers, would get him one if he asked, but Patrick is shaking his head.

“Yeah, well he deserved it.” Patrick's eyes are wetting up and they move away from Pete’s, remaining upwards to the ceiling until he's composed himself. “He left his DNA all over my body so I let the nurses take swabs from certain places. If you get what I'm saying.” Patrick's eyes drift away awkwardly and Pete has a sudden urge to slap Patrick's bruised cheek, for keeping this all to himself.

“You should call the cops now.” Pete regulates his own breathing, feeling sick and angry at himself, and at Patrick and at fucking Jonathan for all of this shit.

“There wouldn't be a case, but he doesn't know that. If he comes to me again trying to force my hand I'll let him know they've got his DNA on file. That'd stop him.” Patrick's hands are shaking and Pete takes them in his own. He's not sure how to feel about this. Patrick is so far from what he first knew, different in ways that matter to Pete.

“You think he's gone back to his wife?” Pete asks instead. He tries to focus on other parts of the mess that is Patrick's life. Patrick looks at him again, eyes flicking over Pete’s face before he shrugs one shoulder.

“She said she knew he was sleeping with someone else, she just didn't expect it to be with a man.” Patrick shuts his eyes again, his tongue coming out to wet his lips. “I hope she doesn't take him back but it's nothing to do with me, it never was.”

Pete lets Patrick rest after that. The conversation has unsettled Pete right down to his bones. He keeps seeing images of Patrick smiling at him, months back when they didn't know each other well. He seemed so stable; sweet and polite and all the things that Pete’s needed these past few months; the most difficult in his life. He doesn't need some ex-hooker with ex-customers taking hits at each other on Pete's doorstep, that's not what this was _supposed_ to be. 

He works around Patrick the rest of the day. He's mostly doped up on painkillers but when his one good eye is open, he keeps it downwards and away from Pete’s. He doesn't eat much when Pete heats him up some soup and when Pete tries to get him into the bedroom he resists.

“Patrick, you're gonna have to work with me here.” Pete tightens his grip under Patrick's arms and sees him wince in pain. He loosens it and runs his hand down Patrick's arm gently as an apology.

“I can sleep in my own bed,” Patrick says. He puts a hand out to steady himself and it slides firm against Pete’s chest. He pulls it away quickly and keeps his eye downcast, but Pete rolls his eyes and takes his weight again.

“Not tonight you can't. I can sleep in Bronx's bed. Don't fight me on this, alright?” Pete tries moving again and this time Patrick goes with him. They shuffle-hop to the bedroom and Pete gets the door open with his elbow. He maneuvers Patrick onto the bed as best he can, leg straight and head against a tall body of pillows. He actively keeps his mind off the last time he had Patrick falling onto his bed, but the images flicker across his mind despite himself.

“You could sleep here too,” Patrick says, his eyes stay focused on Pete this time as he places pills and a bottle of water on the side table. “If you're going to make me stay at least stay with me.”

“Alright.” Pete doesn't put up a fight. He undresses and feels Patrick's eyes on him before sliding under the covers. He's not tired enough to sleep, not yet, so he picks up the book he'd been reading and starts it up again. He reads in silence for awhile, until he looks over and sees that Patrick's finally fallen into a shallow sleep.

 

The next morning Patrick is already awake by the time Pete wakes up. He looks a bit green under the bruises on his face and Pete touches his cheek in concern. “You alright, man?”

“I think so,” Patrick says. “Think the pills are making me queasy though.”

“You gonna hurl?” Pete asks. He can deal with vomit now, especially after the food poisoning Bronx got about six months ago. But Patrick just shakes his head, clutching his ribs as he tries to sit up.

“Can I check my place out today?” Patrick asks instead. He seems a little more himself so far, less sad and teary, so Pete nods his head.

“Sure. I'll get your crutches from the car, but your ribs are still going to be an issue.” Pete's got so much he wants to say -to ask- even if it's not his place. Patrick's hinted at shit Pete doesn't even want to contemplate right now, but he needs answers to some of it.

“I just want to make sure it's stayed empty.” Patrick tries to sit up and then groans, hunched over. “Really fucking done with feeling like this.”

“Dude, it's only been two days, it's gonna get a whole lot worse.” Pete smiles. He's not sure if he'll ever be okay that Patrick used to sell himself, but he's over blaming Patrick for it now. He's more than made up for the idiocy of his actions.

 

Pete finally allows Patrick to go back to his own apartment a few days later. It's a Wednesday and Pete knows it'll be awkward trying to explain Patrick sleeping in his bed to Bronx.

Pete’s made Patrick keep his door unlocked and he comes in to check on him every few hours. He even takes Penny down to the entrance to let her do her business every time. Patrick just sits on his couch, staring at the TV and not saying much. He threatens to beat Pete with his crutches if he tries to help him bathe so he stays out of that.

Pete’s tried to bring up what happened with Jonathan some more, but Patrick straight out shoots him down whenever he starts asking. They don't talk about it anymore, but Pete watches Patrick carefully, trying to get some kind of response. In the end, he knows Patrick will tell him what he wants when he wants and he's just going to have to be patient.

 

“What happened to Patrick?” Bronx asks when he comes to stay. Pete explains as best he can, says something about mean people and tries to weave it into a lecture about not talking to strangers, but Bronx just stares at him blankly. “So we get to look after Penny?”

“No, she's with Patrick, but we can go visit her later.” Pete watches Bronx rush off to his bedroom, and tries to settle his brain down a little bit. He's got the bar opening in a few weeks and he's still not sure how that happened, but it's looking good. Everything in his life is giving him anxiety though, and he's just about holding it together.

 

“I don't know what my kid's obsession with your dog is about,” Pete says later, walking straight into Patrick's apartment. Penny's just pissed on his tennis shoes and then yapped at him when he'd tried to punish her. “You spoil her way too much.”

“She's my baby.” Patrick coos, shuffling forward stiffly and opening his arms. Penny hops up onto his lap and haughtily turns her back on Pete as she curls up. “You should be nicer to her.”

“Patrick, she's a dog.” Pete’s pretty much being a dick for no reason. He fucking loves dogs and the whole 'it's only a pet' bullshit has never rung true with him. Dogs are fucking family, and Penny is all that Patrick's had recently. He feels bad, wants to apologize, but Patrick doesn't look as if he's taken it to heart.

“Hey, when I can actually stand for more than five seconds, you and Bronx should come over for dinner again. You've done a lot and I should probably thank you for it.” Patrick's face is turning red under the spots that aren't bruised and Pete smiles weakly.

“Or I could cook for you. I don't suck that bad.” 

“Maybe we should order out then.” Patrick looks up, smiling. He's still got his hands in Penny's fur, stroking softly. “Really, though. Thanks for everything.”

Pete shrugs, rubbing Patrick's shoulder before heading towards the door. “I'll be back later, alright?” he waits for Patrick to roll his eyes and nod before he leaves.

 

They kind of just go around like that for a while. Patrick starts shuffling around, his bruises heal even if his leg is still encumbered in the cast, but he gets better enough that he starts locking the door, and kicking Pete out when he's feeling unsociable. Bronx gets to hang out with Penny on the days he stays over and Pete can't deny that he looks so much more happier when the little dog is around. 

The bar is looking more and more like a bar too and they're tripping close to opening night. Gabe's the face of the bar, he's the one that's working on sponsors and DJ spots and all the actual work. Pete puts the money in though, signs the checks and has an anxiety attack when his book is released.

His books tend to be quick sellers, he's made it on a few lists before and this one is the third in a collection; it sells well. Pete doesn't read the reviews but his publisher and editor all seem happy and keen for an update on when he's going to start the next one. Pete doesn't answer their emails.

 

Pete's been working at the bar and trying to get it ready for opening night; trying to help with lifting supplies and now he's exhausted. He's an author, physical work isn't good for him. He wearily drags himself up to the apartment and tries the handle on Patrick's door-- mostly out of habit. 

Patrick's got a guitar on his lap, his leg perched on the coffee table. The cast is still on, and he's still in pajama pants but he looks more white than blue in his face now. His ribs are fixing up better too.

“Hey Pete,” Patrick says, hands sliding on the neck of his acoustic, he turns it flat in his lap and smiles at Pete. Pete just gets rooted a little to the spot before he shakes it off. He takes the guitar and props it up against the couch before sitting next to Patrick, twisting until he can push his head down into Patrick's lap.

Patrick's used to this now. There's nothing sexual but there's a lot of touching; Patrick's warm forearm against his own; his head against Patrick's shoulder; his arm low on Patrick's hip when he tries to steady him on his crutches. Pete still has trouble trying to get over what Patrick used to do. He wants them to be more, but he's not sure he can cope with what happened. He can give Patrick friendship, but he's not sure about anything else.

“Busy day?” Patrick asks. He's got his fingers running soft against Pete’s hair, pushing it away from his forehead. Pete shuts his eyes against the affection, he's not had anyone touch him like this in such a long time and it's nice. 

“My back is killing me, man,” Pete moans. “I'm all knotted up from, like, lifting heavy boxes.” He looks up at Patrick, it's a mostly unflattering angle but Patrick's got a little quirk between the eyebrows that flattens out briefly. “What was that look for?”

“Nothing.” Patrick frowns before relenting, his face squeezing up awkwardly. Pete sits up quick enough that it spins his brain, but he blinks it away. “If you want a massage, you know, I sort of know what to do.”

“Huh?”

“Um, well. When I was escorting it was kind of expected. Well, like, a lot of the clients said I sucked at them, but it was always more about the happy-ending part, you know? But if you want one, I could give one.” Patrick scratches his head and then shakes it. “I shouldn't have bought it up.”

“No wait. You gave massages?” Pete's intrigued against his own will. He wants to know, even if it makes him feel worse.

“I'm pretty sure most of the guys advertizing as masseuses in _Backpage_ are just code for escorts. You kind of have to know a little bit.” Patrick's voice is uncertain, like he's trying to work out what Pete’s reaction will be.

Pete’s head has moved along, back ache forgotten as he leans closer. “Is that where you advertized?”

Patrick shakes his head. “I worked for an agency. High end. There's a website but they hide the escorts' faces. They-- you don't want to hear this,” Patrick says. He looks embarrassed, but Pete feels okay. He feels sick when he thinks about the ways Patrick could have been hurt, how he'd let them use him, but right now he feels alright.

“I actually kind of do?” Pete says, unsure why he wants to know. Patrick stares at him, uncertain himself before nodding.

“Okay, so I don't think it's the same for every agency but the one I worked for would match people up. The escorts were molded into certain roles depending on their look. It's all about marketing I guess.” Patrick's not looking at Pete but directly at the wall opposite them. His cheeks are pinking up but Pete doesn't care.

“What were you marketed as?” Pete wants to know, even if he regrets asking. This is a whole part of Patrick he doesn't know, it completely ruins the opinion he had of him when they first met, but he's intrigued.

“What do you think?” Patrick quirks an eyebrow, looking down at himself. “I'm really short and pretty young looking so I mostly got stuck with closet-case daddies looking to fuck a guy for the first time.” Patrick looks vaguely disgusted at it all and Pete snorts. “S'okay, I can play coy little college student pretty well.”

pete ignores the effect the last part has on his imagination and says instead, “You didn't get any hot clients?”

Patrick shrugs. “Sometimes, but as gross as it could be with the older guys, the younger ones had no respect. Like, I know what I am, I don't need it spat in my face. I don't know if it was that the younger guys are more comfortable with their sexuality – at least the ones I saw were – and don't need to have their hand held through it all. They just want an expensive orgasm. Generally I was targeted at the fifty-plus crowd looking for comfort; it's coded as boyfriend experience. I got used to it after a while.”

Pete doesn't say anything for a while, he's not sure what he can say when Patrick finishes talking. Patrick doesn't seem upset talking about this part. If it's not about the Jonathan part, he seems fairly okay discussing it.

“I don't think I could do it.” Pete gets grossed out thinking about having sex with people he's not attracted to. He doesn't need to know their names, or he didn't back when he fucked around, but there always had to be some kind of attraction.

“I can compartmentalize pretty well for the most part, I think that's why I lasted so long. I would never have thought to do it if I hadn't been approached, and I wouldn't have done it if it hadn't have been for the price.” Patrick starts off on another nervous ramble but Pete cuts in.

“How much?”

Patrick raises his shoulder in a shrug. He must know how much he cost, but he clearly doesn't want Pete to know. “I paid off all my debts from school, I have a lot of money saved and I can now make a living as a working musician-- I get paid decent for it. Even after everything that's happened, I ended up getting the career I always wanted from it. I'm grateful for that.” 

“You don't have to explain, Patrick.” Pete grips his hand in his own and squeezes softly. “I know I probably made you feel shitty, but it's just hard wrapping my head around it all. You just-- escorting and the sugar daddy shit, it just didn't match up with who I thought you were.”

“I wasn't Patrick when I escorted, I had a different name that even the agency referred to me as. And Jonathan, that was meant to be an escape. It wasn't suppose to end like this. Those things aren't me, they're just things I did.”

Pete hears the apology behind every word, and even though he knows he maybe wasn't deserving of one in the first place, he accepts it. Part of him questions whether he's leading Patrick on, even if nothing romantic has happened between them. He understands that Patrick's not who he envisioned, and he's not sure if he can get past it to take their relationship further. He desperately wants to though.

“So do you want the massage or what?” Patrick asks eventually, snapping Pete from the thoughts. Pete stares at him a while before he clicks onto what he said. 

“Can you do one that doesn't end with a blow job?” Pete asks and then laughs when he sees Patrick struggle to answer. “Why don't I just book one at a parlor, huh  
?”

Patrick shrugs and then looks at his leg, still encased in the plaster cast. “I don't think I could've done it any way. With my leg, and everything.”

“Then why did you offer?” Pete hears his voice hit an octave higher than he thought himself possible of. Patrick has his head spinning, but it's been good to talk things over a little.

“To be polite.” Patrick shrugs and then laughs, tilting his head back. “I think I needed to get some of that off my chest.”

“I think I needed to hear some of it. And possibly some more when you're ready?” Pete keeps it open like a question and Patrick fixes him with his big blue eyes before nodding slowly.

“Give me time and I can give you answers.” Patrick holds out his hand and Pete takes it, smiling at him.

 

Patrick wants to go to McCoy's on Tuesday. “Not to sing,” he says, but just to get out of the complex. “Cabin fever, dude. It's killing me.”

Joe and Marie have been over a few times when Pete’s been there, and they're both genuinely awesome, with real concern over Patrick. They don't know who or what happened, but Pete catches Marie looking at Patrick sometimes with a glance that suggests she knows more than she tells her husband. Still, it's nice to know others in the apartment. He's even seen Bill a few times, was slipped his number and told the offer still stands. Pete doesn't remember there ever being an offer but he knows what that means. 

“No alcohol,” Pete warns, having to look away when Patrick gives one of his full-beam smiles. It's too much for him sometimes. “Not on your medication.” Pete’s such a dad sometimes, but at least Patrick didn't know him before Bronx; didn't know the crazy he had in him, all the shit he used to do. He's glad he won't have to own up to his own dubious past like Patrick has.

“Yes _mom_.” Patrick is smiling though. He's in sweat pants over the heavy cast, but they're a step up from pajama pants. He's dressed better up top, black button down; hat and no glasses. “Company's all I need.”

Pete hands him the crutches. Patrick's a wobbly mess on them, but Pete keeps an eye on him, hands always ready to steady him. He drives them to the bar, smiling when he sees Patrick tap along to the radio with his fingers. 

Patrick shrinks back slightly when they get to the bar. From what Pete understands, Patrick hasn't told anyone about the accident and the regulars flock to him in shock. Behind the bar, Travis raises his eyebrows at Pete in confusion. 

Pete lets Patrick get accustomed to the crowd and hears him start talking about a mugging, and apologizing for the lack of sets recently. Pete pats his shoulder gently and heads over to get their drinks.

“What happened to my boy?” Travis asks, eyes scanning Pete up and down. Pete flops onto the stool, pulling his wallet from his jacket and pulling out some notes. He orders the drinks before he gives into Travis' stern look.

“He wasn't mugged, but he's not with Jonathan anymore. You didn't hear it from me.” Travis finally moves after this, appeased by this information, though he looks worried at what Pete's told him. 

“You taking care of him?” Travis asks when he's finished Pete's order. For all that McCoy cares about Patrick, he sure doesn't know much about him. Still, Pete just nods his head.

“When he lets me. He brought some of this on himself, but he's getting better. He's doing alright now.” Pete doesn't want to spill it all, even if Travis makes it so easy. Travis refuses the money for the drinks, says they're on the house for looking after Patrick, so Pete rolls the money back into his wallet and smiles warmly at him before finding Patrick.

Patrick's finally made it to a small table at the back by the time Pete comes over. He's got his bad leg outstretched, a flush high on his cheeks and a loose easy smile that has Pete dropping the drinks to the table messily.

“Lemonade neat?” Patrick smirks, curling his fingers around the tall glass. Pete nods, sits down and stares at Patrick for a few seconds before pushing his own drink toward him.

“Have a few sips.” Pete watches Patrick take a few heavy gulps of his drink before handing it back to Pete and switching to his fizz instead.

“I don't like vodka anyway.” Patrick shrugs, sitting back in his chair. He looks happy to be here, happier than he has in a long while now and Pete’s glad he's here to witness it. His stomach does crazy somersaults as he watches him, it makes him nervous and his fingers slippery and he's not sure why it's happening tonight of all nights.

They sit in an amicable silence for a while. There's another guy on stage right now filling in Patrick's spot, and he's not as good; isn't good at all really. He's pitchy and intense in an awkward way but Pete watches Patrick watch the singer, sees him trying to smooth it out in his head. 

Pete goes to the restroom when the set's over. He tries to think about what he's doing here with Patrick – dating him almost – without any real touch, but it hurts to think about; he's so fucking confused about what he feels. 

Travis has taken his spot next to Patrick when Pete gets back, and the first thing that strikes him is that he looks so fucking weird this side of the bar. Pete moves to the side when Travis pulls back. Pete hadn't heard what they were saying but Patrick looks a little soft in his features, his thin eyebrows knitting together.

“You dudes stay safe, alright?” Travis slaps Pete on the shoulder good-heartedly and Pete twists his head to look up at him, smiling a little bit as he walks back through the crowd to man his bar. 

“I'm pretty tired,” Patrick says the moment Pete sits down. He looks at Pete briefly before his eyes slide away. “Can we go home?”

“Sure,” Pete says, standing straight away. He helps Patrick up onto his wobbly feet, hitching a crutch under one arm and then the other. Patrick starts to leave almost straight away and Pete watches him in concern, eyes flicking to Travis, who just nods his head at Patrick's fleeting back.

“You alright?” Pete looks at Patrick as he drives through the city and back to the apartments. Patrick's face lights up orange as they flash past street lamps before flickering back to pale in the dark car.

“Just thinking.” Patrick's voice comes out quiet and on a mumble. Pete knows Patrick gets stuck in his head sometimes, over-thinking things instead of spitting it out. He's the opposite, would rather talk himself out of actual situations than imaginary ones.

Pete lets him carry on _thinking_ until he pulls into the parking lot. The atmosphere is a little better outside of the car and maybe it's that they've both left the bar sober that's part of the problem. Before, any lingering thought Pete had about Patrick could be put down to the booze, but he can't blame that tonight.

“I can't pretend anymore,” Patrick finally says in the lobby of their floor. Pete turns to him, heart thudding thickly as he looks at Patrick. He doesn't really have time to think before Patrick is pushing him back against the wall and kissing him.

Pete kisses back for a while. Patrick is small against him, but firm and compact and he drops the crutches to the floor as his hands curve to Pete’s face. Pete has repressed wanting this again for so long that it's making him dizzy now. His hands slip to Patrick's hips as his tongue presses to Patrick's mouth, slipping around to his waist to pull him in closer.

Patrick wobbles slightly as he leans on Pete, almost needy as his hands slide to Pete’s shoulders. Pete tries to focus on the kiss, which is hot and wet, and full of all the things he's wanted to do recently, but instead little worm-like thoughts tease at his brain.

He sees flashes of Patrick fucking for money, and wonders if he kissed all those men like this. Did he kiss them or was he the kind of whore that didn't allow that? He remembers fucking Patrick; he had been tight but not the tightest Pete’s had. And his skilled fucking mouth; he thinks about all the cocks he must've sucked to get that good at it.

Pete feels sick, he can't do this. He can't be with Patrick even though he wants to. He pushes Patrick back from him, catching him when Patrick stumbles onto his bad leg. Patrick tries to lean in again but Pete holds him away, dipping low to pick up the crutches as he tries formulate what he needs to say.

“I can't.” He manages to spit out. His mouth tingles from Patrick's kisses, can still feel his soft lips against his own, and he wants more, even if the thought of all the other mouths he may have kissed make his stomach turn. “I'm sorry but we can't.”

“Why not?” Patrick looks confused, stepping back slightly. His mouth is swollen red, a rash faint on his chin from where Pete’s not shaved in a few days. “I know you want this too.”

“I do want you. Fuck, I want you so bad.” Pete runs a hand through his hair and steps away from the wall, trying to keep eye contact with Patrick, who looks painfully like he's trying to understand what's happening. “But I can't do it.”

“We don't have to fuck,” Patrick reasons, his hands coming up to his hair self-consciously. “Just come and sleep with me, please. I want to take it slow, but I want to be with you. Don't act like you haven't wanted this too.” Patrick leans forward on his crutches, his cheeks pinking up at Pete’s rejection as he smiles forcefully at Pete.

“I have wanted this, but I also kinda think I've been leading both of us on as well. I don't know, Patrick. I think you should be on your own for a while. Just live with yourself until you're better. You've had a rough time, you should take some time to fix yourself.” Pete’s talking bullshit he knows, and so does Patrick, who pulls a strained face. He's upset and shocked and a little bit angry, and it's obvious on his face.

“I don't understand,” Patrick says. He's swallowing thickly, his brow furrowed in irritation as he works through his emotions and Pete’s words. Again he says, “I thought you wanted this too.”

“I can't fuck a prostitute.”

Patrick's face falls this time, anger slipping away and replaced with hurt. He doesn't hide it like he would normally, doesn't bother protecting himself. He just shakes his head at Pete’s words, like he heard wrong. “I'm not a prostitute, I don't do it anymore. I haven't done that in over a year.”

“But you were one, and every time I think about you I see you with countless dudes; fucking for money and it makes me feel sick. Please don't act like you weren't whoring yourself for Jonathan, that's exactly what it was.” Pete doesn't want to be nasty and he doesn't want to be cruel, but he's not going to lie when they're finally hashing this out.

“But I'm not one anymore...” Patrick's voice fades out as he repeats his stance. Pete knows he's not escorting; that he's not doing anyone, but it doesn't stop his own feelings on the matter. “I can't change what I did, but you should stop being such a judgemental fucking dick.”

“I've _tried_! I can't change the fact that it makes me physically ill thinking about it.” Pete tries to place a gentleness in his tone but Patrick doesn't pick up on it, just looks down at his own feet. The pink on his cheeks is mostly humiliation now and Pete hates that he's the one that made it that way.

“I thought you were over it. I love you, you know. But I would've got over you if you'd said you couldn't do this.” Patrick's rambling now, but Pete’s still stuck on _I love you_. It aches, because he's pretty much there with Patrick himself; couldn't say it yet, but he feels it, and he sees the rejection hitting Patrick hard. Patrick puts a hand over his face and sags slightly. “I thought you felt the same. We can't-- I need to get over you if you don't want this. I need some space.”

“Patrick, you know this isn't about you, right? It's not about you as a person, you're one of the good guys. One of the really good ones. But I've hit a roadblock when it comes to your past and I don't know how to get around it.” Pete's going for damage control now; knows he's going to lose Patrick's friendship again at this rate, and he's desperate to salvage some of it.

“I get it,” Patrick says. The anger's back now as he drops his hand. His eyelashes are wet, but his mouth is set in a tight line. He won't cry in front of Pete. “You don't need to repeat it anymore.”

Pete stays still as Patrick fiddles in his jacket for his keys, trying to balance himself on the crutches. Pete eventually steps forward to help him, ignoring how Patrick flinches slightly. He slides the keys from Patrick's pocket and drops it into his palm.

“Just--” Pete starts and cuts himself off. This isn't what he wanted, he wants to crash through his fucking mental block, but he can't and this sucks so bad. “If you need anything, let me know. Seriously, Patrick.”

“Sure.” Patrick voice is flat as he unlocks the door and he shuts the door behind himself. Pete doesn't stay in the lobby any longer, just goes to his own place and tries to forget the night ever happened.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part! I hope this goes down okay.  
> There's a tiny amount of Pete/William Beckett here, sorry if that's not your thing, but it's only a small part!  
> There's also a brief allusion to non-con in this, just a line, but here's a warning for that.

Patrick proves hard to get over. He's pretty much all Pete’s wanted in months and he had him, he had Patrick up against the fucking wall but he couldn't do it, and thinking about it every night, he knows he'd still do the same thing. He hates himself for it.

He gets lonely now without Patrick to fuss around. He stays away and gives Patrick the space he requested; he needs it too. But he misses sitting on Patrick's couch, pressed together and talking shit each night.

But he has to move on from it, and so he throws himself back into working at the bar. Opening night is a success that he wishes he could enjoy but he's a bag of nerves all night, panics until Gabe calms him down; tells him how awesome it went.

“Dude, seriously dude. We are amazing, this is amazing,” Gabe says when they meet up the next night. He'd enjoyed himself considerably and the customers had enjoyed him. That's the thing about Gabe, he's good at parties; good at being the entertainment. At one point, Pete had been there too and he's working on bringing that side of himself back.

“You think this is actually going to work?” Pete knows he brings in a crowd himself. He has fans of his books, mostly young girls, but they're old enough to drink and bring the youth factor to the place. He at least feels like he's bringing in his own revenue and not leaving it all to Gabe.

“Early days, but I hope so.” Gabe pulls out a shit-eating grin, long arms going behind his head as he stretches. He flops forward again, elbows on the table as he stares at Pete. “What's up with you though, still having boy-trouble?”

“I ended it with Patrick.” Pete pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes for a second before pulling away. “He was a prostitute, man. Before the sugar daddy business, that's what he did.”

“You don't like him enough to get over it?” Gabe's never met Patrick, but if he had he'd know why Pete has such trouble with it. If Patrick looked like a hooker, if he acted like one, Pete would have accepted it easier. But he doesn't, he's nothing like that. He's not what he was supposed to be to Pete.

“I tried, Gabe. It shouldn't be a problem but it is. And I had him, man. He put himself out for me and I know that it took a lot. I humiliated him and made him feel like it was his fault and it's not, that's not what I wanted to do, but I couldn't go through with it.” Pete wonders how many people in life must think he's an asshole. There's a long list, and he hates that Patrick's on it now.

Gabe stares at him a while, before nodding. “You could try talking it over with him.”

“He wants space. He needs to get over me,” Pete says. “I have to accept that.”

“Maybe try dating someone else then. Get fucking out of your system and see how you feel afterward.” Gabe is always filled with advice, but Pete often has the pick through the shit to get to the gold. This time Pete’s genuinely at a loss. He got over his divorce by falling for Patrick, and he can't do it again, but he hasn't screwed around in so long. Maybe it is what he needs.

“I know someone that's into me.” Pete remembers Bill slipped him his digits, still feeling him out weeks after the Christmas party. Pete hasn't really thought about it. He hadn't been interested, but Bill was hot; if anything he was far more Pete's type than Patrick ever was.

He calls Bill the moment he gets home and gets an offer for drinks that night. Bronx is down with Ashlee's parents at the moment so he's not getting him this week. This gives Pete ample time to fuck Patrick out of his head.

Bill is a lush; already half-cut by the time Pete meets him at a bar, but that's alright. He's pretty sexy too, with hair that falls across his forehead and limbs that bend and poke out in all directions, flashes of pale skin under dark clothes. He twists all over Pete, sweaty and inebriated, but his mouth is wet and loose and Pete presses his own against it at the first chance.

They don't last long at the bar, both with the same thing on their mind. Pete takes him up to his apartment and leans back against Bill's thin body as he opens the door. They don't bother with lights or offerings of drinks. Bill just looks around briefly before finding Pete’s bedroom and kicking the door open.

Fucking Bill is like fucking the countless dude's he's had before. There's no nerves like he had with Patrick because this is nothing more than sex; there's no real connection. Bill is tall, rake-thin, and his skin pulls taut as he bends at the waist. Pete fucks him in quick jagged thrusts, pressing in and out. Bill's no tighter than Patrick, used to getting fucked and he's loud too, crying out when Pete gets relentless.

Pete comes, face to the base of Bill's neck. He smells of expensive cologne and sweat and Pete pulls out before he gets to intoxicated in it. He rids himself of the condom and falls back onto the bed, mindful of the wet spot Bill's made. 

It wasn't bad, but the entire time it was just PatrickPatrickPatrick in his head. Bill's fucking hot, and he knows it, but Pete missed the thickness of Patrick's thighs, his round ass; his ability to make Pete not feel like the only midget in the world. Patrick could take control but give it up just as easy. He settled Pete when he needed to and it just felt right. 

“I can leave if you want,” Bill says. He doesn't sound upset, just asking a question. He sounds sober too, and Pete wonders if he fucked the drunkard out of him; whether that's possible

“No, sorry. It's just the first fuck I've had in a while that wasn't caught up in anything messy. Just processing it,” Pete admits. Pete’s a cuddler after sex, but Bill doesn't look all that comfy to snuggle up with so he keeps to his own side. 

Bill nods his head. Pete watches the haze slide from his eyes as he turns to Pete. “Hey, you ever fuck your neighbor? Patrick, right?”

“Yeah,” Pete admits. “Just the once.” Pete can think back on the night and is glad it happened; the aftermath was messy, but he remembers curling up with him after, pulling Patrick back against his chest and holding him close. 

“I thought you'd get right on him once he broke up with that daddy of his.”

“I guess things don't always work out like we think.” Pete doesn't want to discuss this with Bill, who he's sure is nice, but he doesn't actually know him. He rolls onto his stomach and smirks at Bill, sees nothing but sex and lust in his eyes. “I don't want to talk about that.”

“Wanna fuck some more?” Bill asks, and Pete’s there already, tugging Bill down over him. 

 

He keeps it casual with Bill, they just fuck and it's easy. Pete gets to let off steam, and Bill loves sex and it's mostly fun. Pete gets his cock sucked and then hates how much he compares it to what Patrick did.

He's seen Patrick off and on, but they haven't really spoken; he's giving Patrick the space he wants. He knows what he said to Patrick that night in the lobby hurt deep in places Patrick wasn't expecting. 

Pete's spent the morning doing paperwork with Gabe the next time he sees Patrick. Pete's just pulled into his parking spot and Patrick's walking Penny back into the basement, limping a little bit, but no longer encumbered with the crutches.

“Oh hey! You're walking almost normally,” Pete calls and Patrick looks up, giving Pete a small smile. He stops short and waits for Pete to catch him up. “Hey Penny, Bronx has missed seeing you around.”

“He can come and see Penny anytime.” Patrick picks his dog up from the floor and holds her against his chest. Pete doesn't say anything, he's not sure what to say. Patrick looks good though, the same as before the beating. 

“You doing alright?” Pete asks, and he sees Patrick give him a glance from the corner of his eyes, like he's unsure about what Pete’s actually asking. As they wait for the elevator to drop down Patrick finally answers.

“You know, just busy with work, now that I'm all fixed up.”

Pete shakes his head. “That's not what I was asking.”

“I know,” Patrick says, the rumbling of the elevator announces its arrival as Patrick continues. “I don't really want to talk about it.”

Pete wants to ask why, because he wants them to be friends again even if that's all they can be; if that's all he can offer. Patrick's left a big fucking hole in Pete’s day to day life, and he misses what they had.

The doors ping open and suddenly Bill is there, bouncing out of the elevator in his work clothes. Pete really _really_ wishes he wasn't there as Bill beams at him, his arm winding over Pete’s neck.

“Hey, I missed you last night.” Bill wanted Pete to stay over, but Pete declined, wanted some time by himself. He untangles Bill from him and looks to Patrick, whose face is a bright red, his eyes downcast. “Oh hey, Pat.” Bill waves at him, aware on some level that he's interrupted something. He pulls back, lips pursed and waves Pete off as he heads to his car.

Pete only just manages to slide into the elevator in time, Patrick's already beaten him to it and he feels really really shitty when he sees the look on Patrick's face.

“You and Bill, huh?” Patrick says and Pete turns to look at him, his hands clutching his little dog close. When Pete opens his mouth to say something Patrick just shakes his head apologetically. “I'm sorry. I know I have no right to be upset, it just really sucks.”

“He's just there. It's not anything special.” The doors open at this point and Pete follows Patrick out. “I just needed to get you out of my system.” Pete laughs flatly at the last part, but Patrick stops short in front of him, his shoulders tightening up.

“Go fuck yourself, Pete.” Pete hadn't been expecting that kind of reaction but he sees the genuine fury and hurt on Patrick's face and steps back a little bit, Patrick can be fierce for such a little guy. “Why do you always have to make me feel so fucking worthless?”

“I didn't--” Pete raises his hands in defeat, trying to find a metaphorical shovel large enough to dig himself out. Patrick just shakes his head in defeat, heading to his own front door without another word and kicking it shut behind him.

 

“We should probably stop pretending.” Bill informs him by phone that night. They haven't spoken since the incident with Patrick, but there's no denying the awkwardness that went down.

“Pretending?” Pete hums into the receiver. He's pretty sure he's getting dumped.

“You're hot, Pete. But the sex is not good enough for me to want to involve myself in whatever's going on between you and Patrick.” Pete sits on this or a few seconds. Bill's hot as fuck, but Pete can't deny that the relationship is pretty one note.

“There's nothing going on with Patrick, really.” That's a lie and he knows it. There's so much going on with Patrick, even if Pete’s not even involved with him. “He hates me now.”

“You break his heart?” Bill's possibly going to be a friend after this and Pete thinks that makes him pretty awesome. He's never stayed friends with an ex before, although it's not like he and Bill were ever really together.

“Yeah.” Pete admits it because he's pretty sure it's true considering Patrick's reaction today. “But also my own.”

“Fucking idiot, go fix it,” Bill scoffs down the line, in good spirits despite their break up. Pete doesn't doubt that he's got a replacement lined up, he knows how Bill rolls.

“I'm sorry this didn't work out,” Pete says and means it. He's a little down because no Bill means no sex, and even if his mind was never truly on Bill, he's still been a pretty good fuck.

“Eh, these things happen. We'll catch up alright, at some point?” Pete agrees to keep contact with Bill, but hangs up soon after. He sits in quiet for a few moments. He hasn't got anything to do apart from repair the damage with Patrick, but he doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to fix it, but he knows he can talk to someone about it. He grabs his jacket and keys and heads to McCoy's bar.

 

Pete’s never been to Travis' place on any day other than Tuesday, but it appears to be similar all the same. There's no one singing, but the faces look pretty familiar. When Travis spots him, his eyebrows fold in together and he looks pissed enough that Pete guesses Patrick must've confided something in him. Travis waggles one long finger at him and Pete shuffles toward him, shoulders hunched as he falls onto a barstool in the farthest corner. He braces himself for a rollicking and stares at Travis through his fingers.

“I know I'm an ass, you don't need to tell me,” Pete says after a few seconds of quiet. He moves his hand from his face expecting to see fury, but instead he gets his favored beer and a grimace. 

“I thought you were into him, man. I told him to go for it the night you both came here with his beat-up ass because you kept looking at him all dreamy, and then he comes in here all pissed off because you fucking rejected him.”

“I didn't reject him.” Pete counteracts, “I kinda did, but I didn't. He knows my reasons.” 

“Yeah I know them too.” Travis looks him levelly in the eye and Pete raises his eyebrow in surprise. Patrick said no one knew about what he did, that's why he was so desperate to keep it hidden from everyone. “He only just told me but it doesn't change my opinion of him. It shouldn't change yours.”

“You're not wanting to sleep with him though,” Pete points out. He's sure it wouldn't be an issue if it was platonic with Patrick. He'd probably smack him hard over the head for being so stupid, but it wouldn't stop him being his friend. It didn't stop them being friends when Patrick was beaten up, Pete could do that part well. “It's a sex thing, that's what I have a problem with.”

“Why didn't you just tell him that instead of making him think you didn't want him? Just because you have a hard time screwing him doesn't mean you have to screw him over.” Travis leans in closer, looking at Pete like he's the biggest fucking idiot in the world for fucking things up like this.

“Nice,” Pete says, sipping his beer. It doesn't really settle his nerves but it gives him something to do. “It's not like I don't want to be with him. I do, it's just the whole escorting I can't get over. I tried telling him that, but I think he just heard the bad parts.”

“Then stop being a goddamn coward and fucking talk to him. I was feeling shitty because I thought I'd told him to pursue something you didn't want, but man I was wrong, and now you've got to sort your own shit out. I don't want your pathetic asses moping any longer.” Pete feels like he's being scolded and motivated into doing something right now, so he downs his drink before scampering off with a backwards wave over his shoulder to Travis. He only gets to the door when self-doubt creeps in and he shuffles back to the bar, looking to Travis for more guidance.

“What if he hates me still?” Pete says and Travis just crosses his arms over his chest, looking done with all of this now. 

“He's never going to hate you, you know that.” Pete does, really. Patrick's good and he's kind and in love with Pete, he's going to listen after a while. Pete pulls his wallet out but McCoy shakes his head. Pete hopes that Gabe is nothing like Travis in how loose he is with free drinks; he doesn't know how Travis stays in pocket.

 

He doesn't even think about backing out now. He wants to sort it with Patrick, sort through his mind with him, try and get Patrick to help him make sense of this. If by the end he really can't see past Patrick's sexual history then he guesses he'll truly have to move on.

He raps against Patrick's door with his knuckles. If Patrick refuses to answer, well, Pete’s got a spare key to his place somewhere in his kitchen. But it doesn't matter because he soon hears the slide of the bolt before the door is pulled open.

“Pete.” Patrick's voice is flat, and he's toned his facial features to remain neutral since this morning. He's in his pajamas again, and Pete likes that that part of him remains the same. He smiles, remembering the same stupid get-up when they first met all those fucking months ago.

“Patrick, we need to talk.” Pete tries to keep his head calm now and get his rational words out in the right order. Patrick's just staring at him flatly, arms crossed over his chest and forgoing any attempts at politeness now.

“I'm done with all of this. Just fucking leave me alone.” Patrick's blocking the door with his body and looking utterly fed up. Pete thinks about retreating, forgetting all of this, but he's done with being miserable now.

“I'm done with it too.” Pete blurts out. He pushes against Patrick's door until it opens and Patrick doesn't fight it; just steps back. “I'm sorry for saying shitty things all the time.”

“What do you want?” Patrick stands in the middle of his apartment, tugging at his hair before turning away and sitting down on his couch. 

Pete’s not a big fan of the hostility but he goes with it, it's better than full out anger, and he knows he probably deserves it. “I didn't mean to make it sound like you were something I wanted to forget about earlier. I just meant that you've been hard to get over, and I haven't got over you. I don't think I even _want_ to get over you.”

“You don't want to be with me either.” Patrick points out flatly, he's got his glasses on and his blue eyes stare blankly at Pete from behind the lenses. “You made that obvious.”

“I _do_ , but I just-- every time you kissed or touched me, I couldn't get my brain off all the dudes you've done that with for money. It skeeves me out and I really really wish it didn't because you're one of the best people I've ever met.” Pete’s knees are twitching and his heart is racing, and when he drags his palms over his thighs they're slick with sweat. 

“I can't change my past, and I won't lie to you, Pete. I don't regret what I did, I've been able to carve out the career of my dreams by doing what I did. I'm ashamed about it, but I don't regret it and I won't pretend otherwise.” He sees Patrick staring at him, biting his lip and frowning. The anger's dissipated as he's started to talk it out.

“I'm not asking you to, I'm just saying it's hard to get over.” Pete slides his clammy hand from his thigh to Patrick's wrist, locking his fingers around it. Patrick remains stiff but he doesn't pull away. “I just freaked and panicked. I wasn't expecting you to be a virgin or anything, but it's so crazy that you sold yourself, it's like you didn't respect yourself.”

Patrick pulls his hand away, pissed again and Pete grimaces, knowing he's put his fucking foot in it again. “I was approached a few years ago by the agency and offered money for my services. I had really shitty self-esteem before I started, and it helped me get over that. I'm not going to apologize because it grosses you out, fuck that. I fucking respect myself, not that it's your concern.”

“Sorry, okay! You respect yourself, that's fine, but you said bad stuff was happening and that's why you went to Jonathan for help,” Pete says and Patrick nods his head, calming down again. Pete has another query though. “You slept with me when you were working for Jonathan.”

“Because I was in love with you.” Patrick's face turns another shade red. Pete sits back, a little winded with shock. He hadn't loved Patrick back then, or if he did he wouldn't have been able to process it as such. “It wasn't like I was just giving it up to anyone that asked.”

“Just let me process this,” Pete says. It feels good to be loved and he lets it wash over himself, finally looking over at Patrick, who's staring down at his knees, his jaw working. “Why did you really quit the escorting? You didn't answer.”

“The agency was screwing me over; I was getting clients that I'd blacklisted or ones that wanted services that I didn't offer, but I managed to quit before anything bad happened. I was stupid to take Jonathan up on his offer, but I guess I wasn't ready to let go of the wages just yet. It was only meeting you that made me realize how fucking stupid I was being,” Patrick says it under his breath, like talking about this is something he never wants to do.

“What as the worst that happened?” Pete asks and Patrick's eyes bug, aware that Pete’s putting off responding with his own feelings. He looks reluctant to share, aware of Pete’s delicate feelings on the subject of his previous career.

“What, why are you suddenly all interested?” Patrick shakes his head, if he turns any more red he'll be purple.

“Talking out my issues. So what was it, the worst?” Pete asks again and watches Patrick relent.

Patrick folds his arms over his stomach and leans forward as if in deep thought. “Nothing happened that I couldn't ever handle with single clients, a lot of them would fuck around trying to go bareback, but there was one occasion near the end where the agency sent me to a party, like you know, a sex thing.”

“Gangbang?” Pete provides and Patrick nods his head.

“If it's more than three clients you ask for a buddy, that way you can clean up between rounds and make sure that you and the other worker are safe, condoms are used etc, but they sent me to one without a buddy and nothing happened – they all behaved – but I was just so freaked out by it that it spurred me into trying to get out.”

“Sounds scary.” Pete tries to keep his imagination going to far into the scenario, but it's something he knows he'll be thinking about on the nights he can't sleep.

“It was. And Jonathan was a regular I saw and I remember telling him about it and he'd been saying for a while about how he wanted to keep me, you know, so that I'd work only for him. He was nicer back then, or maybe I just didn't care as much, I don't know. It was a way out of a bad situation, I didn't even think about it getting me into another one.” Patrick's fingers play nervously with the hem of his own t-shirt, tugging at the material; stretching it out. He looks at Pete from the corner of his eye, like he's assessing his reaction to all of this.

“And you really never got hurt?” Pete asks eventually. It's not the only thing he wants to know, but he can't believe Patrick spent a few years of his life as a goddamn escort and didn't get into trouble.

“Guys tried it, but they tend to behave once they remember I have their dick between my teeth. I got tested every three months, I only did covered blow jobs. I allowed facials but at my discretion and I always supplied the condoms. The sex was always safe, and I never had any accidents. If some guy took Viagra and insisted on fucking until he came, then I changed his condom every so often.” Patrick's mumbling and burning so bright Pete’s certain he can feel the heat rising from him.

“And with Jonathan?” Pete asks, aware that Patrick's the nervous one now. He doesn't want to upset him, but at the same time, he needs all the answers to this.

Patrick's eyes slide away and Pete cringes inside. “He wore condoms to fuck, but he refused for oral.” Pete sees him biting at his lip and he puts his hand on Patrick's knee as he tries to settled him down. “He didn't use anything the last time, but I got tested at the hospital and the results were fine.”

“I'm not judging you, Patrick. Just trying to get my head around things.” Patrick relaxes at that, nodding his head and smiling a small smile. “Did you enjoy it, though. The escorting?”

Patrick screws his nose up, pushing his glasses further up. “I can separate so it never became an issue really, but I guess sometimes it was fun. Especially when they had weird kinks, like this one dude poured jelly over my body then licked it off; not any other food, just strawberry jelly.” Pete laughs at that, and Patrick gives him another small smile. “I've always been pretty decent at giving head, apparently. I guess it gave me a chance to hone my skills if nothing else.”

“You're fucking amazing at it. But then, your mouth's good at everything.” Pete charms, and Patrick looks away with an embarrassed frown. Pete feels kind of okay now that they've talked about it more. He's not sure he'll ever be truly comfortable with it, but he feels good enough to slide his hand up to the base of Patrick's neck, holding his palm against the warm nape, light blond hairs brushing his fingers until Patrick squirms away.

“I wouldn't ever go back to it. I made my money's worth, but I have no desire for it anymore. I can't-- we can't do this if you're not cool with it. You need to make your mind up before you play with me again.” Patrick doesn't sound annoyed at all, but a little unsure with how he doesn't look Pete in the eye. He stares down at his own knees as he waits for Pete’s response.

“I want this to work,” Pete says once he's mulled it over in his mind. “That doesn't mean I won't throw it at you every time we argue. I have no filter when I'm pissed, but I wouldn't mean it.”

“Then get a fucking filter because I'm over you trashing my self-esteem because of this, and I really can't apologize any more. I took a fucking beating to get out of that situation, I think I deserve a little bit of slack.” Patrick's getting flustered again and Pete sighs heavily, not sure how they ended up fighting this time.

Pete doesn't really have a response, not one with words, so instead he just tugs on Patrick's shoulders and pulls him in until their mouths press together. Patrick's leaning awkwardly onto Pete, and not really kissing back, _and_ his stupidly large glasses are getting in the way, but Pete’s not thinking about that.

Patrick's mouth finally opens; wet and soft as he twists to the side, kissing back at last. Pete’s just thinking about him now, about how much he wants this and not about all the times Patrick's done this before. It's a relief if nothing else.

Patrick pulls away and rests his forehead against Pete’s cheek for a few seconds. “Please tell me you aren't going to freak out again.”

“I don't think I am,” Pete laughs, feels Patrick smile against him as he drops the tension in his body. Until a few minutes ago he really wasn't sure how he was going to deal with this, but something changed – maybe talking about things for once – airing it all has helped his brain work it out. He rubs his hand against Patrick's back, slipping up the back of his t-shirt to feel the slick skin.

Patrick shifts until he can throw his leg over Pete’s hip and he's straddling Pete’s lap, arms over Pete’s shoulders. He settles down and Pete decides he likes this, the intimacy isn't something he's used to, but he's missed it anyway. He slides his hands down to cup Patrick's through his thin pajama pants and feels the fleshy give of his body.

“Okay. You have a great personality and a great everything, and I'm probably going to be an asshole at some point or another and mention that you used to be a hooker, but I--”

“You get one chance,” Patrick interrupts, his fingers resting on Pete’s face, cool against the heat of Pete’s face. “If things don't feel right or you're freaking out, you gotta tell me because I don't want to be made to feel like I did these past few weeks.”

“I'm sorry.” Pete butts his face against Patrick's hands, relieved when Patrick's serious little face softens into a smile and he leans in to kiss Pete again. It's chaste, but there's a lot in it and when Patrick pulls away, Pete cups his hand to the back of his head and holds him close.

“I'm such a fucking pushover for you,” Patrick says into Pete’s neck. Pete doesn't think that's too much of a bad thing considering how much he's already screwed up, but he keeps his mouth shut for once. 

“Let's fucking start over,” Pete says it into Patrick's hair, feels Patrick nod against him. He's content to just rest there for a while, Patrick heavy and warm against him, breath soft and even against his neck. Eventually he wants more though, and he pushes his fingers under Patrick's chin and tilts it up until he's focusing on Pete. “Wanna fuck around?”

“I thought you'd want to take it slow,” Patrick says, pulling away to look at Pete curiously. For the first time in months he looks happy and Pete loves that's he's played a role in that. He's not done much to be proud of, but this is something he can smile about.

“Yeah, well, figured I've got a lot of making up to do.” Pete shrugs, trying to keep his face cool but failing when he sees how large Patrick is smiling. It's kind of contagious and soon he's grinning back like an idiot.

“You do,” Patrick agrees, sliding from Pete’s lap to the couch next to him. Pete pushes him back against the couch, and he just stares down at him for a few seconds. Patrick shifts awkwardly, feet rubbing together until Pete hooks his fingers into his pajama pants and tugs them down with his underwear.

Patrick's cock is soft when Pete slides his fingers against it, but Patrick's hips rise into his touch as he feels out his warm skin with his palms. Pete’s hands fall down to Patrick's thighs, thick and soft and just as Pete remembers. He drops his face to them, burying his face in warm soft skin.

“You alright down there?” Patrick asks on a laugh, his hands falling to Pete’s hair. Pete just presses his face down into the softness of Patrick's skin. He presses small kisses and scratches his stubble over the warm skin.

“Missed this,” Pete responds, looking up under his lashes to see Patrick staring down at him.

“You never had this.” Patrick's thighs twitch and Pete slides his hand to the backs of them, resting on his heels, and looking down at what is now _his_.

“Oh I've had it so much, you know, in my fantasies,” Pete says. It's not as smooth as it was in his head and Patrick scrunches his face up like he's embarrassed on Pete's behalf. Before, he'd been the awkward one; uncertain, but Patrick looks afraid of letting go. “Patrick, I'm not going anywhere, okay?”

Patrick nods his head when Pete smooths his hand to his hip, fingers curving over the bone. Patrick just stares up at Pete for a few seconds, like he's trying to get his thoughts in order. “Not used to getting what I want recently.”

“You can have whatever you want now.” Pete cups Patrick's cock in his hand, feeling the heat of his skin as Patrick lifts up to reach him, pulling him down by the collar. He kisses him softly, as Pete sprawls over him, fingers teasing over his cock. “Whatever you want to do.”

“Not... I don't want a blow job.” Patrick puts it bluntly, and Pete raises his eyebrows. That's kind of what he'd been expecting to deliver. Patrick's skin flushes and he covers his face with his hand for a few seconds before Pete gently pulls his hands away. Patrick's face screws up as he tries to get his words out. “I've had a lot of really bad head. Most of my clients lived the straight life and didn't know what to do with a dick. It's kind of put me off it.”

“I give great head,” Pete supplies, although he's not sure. He hasn't done it in years; he hadn't even been reciprocal with Bill. “But okay. That's cool.” He leans down to kiss Patrick again just because he can, and Patrick softens every time. Pete rests his face against the roundness of Patrick's cheek, breathes in his scent before lifting up. “Turn over,” he says, pulling off Patrick's body.

Patrick looks confused for a few seconds before obliging. He kicks his pajama pants off from where they've been caught around his knees before rolling onto his stomach, twisting his head to look over his shoulder.

Pete pushes his t-shirt up a little bit so that he can get more of a view. Patrick's ass looks good in tight jeans, but it looks even better without clothes. Pete rests his hands on each cheek, palms flat to the round, warm skin and just stares at the contrast for a few seconds.

Patrick shifts awkwardly on the couch, finally getting aroused, his hips pressing down onto the cushions until Pete pulls him up so that he's resting on his knees. 

Pete peppers kisses along the small of Patrick's back, fingers sliding up his shirt to press along the bumps of his spine. He mouths wetly at his tailbone, scratching his stubble against one soft cheek as Patrick's breath comes out jagged.

“Pete,” Patrick gasps out, and Pete pulls his lips from Patrick's skin to look at his red face, gold hair dripping in sweaty strands down his forehead. He looks hot, even with his head hanging upside down, or maybe that's just Pete. “Pete you don't have to do _this_.”

Pete shrugs his shoulders. Two of his fingers trace down Patrick's cleft, spreading his ass cheeks. Pete feels Patrick's opening twitch against his fingers, and he shifts both hands until his thumbs are spreading Patrick open. He leans down, licks once right across Patrick's hole and feels his body shudder under his hands.

“You don't want me to do that?” Pete smirks at Patrick's quick loss of control, and then does it again, circling lightly around his entrance. Pete feels the heat of him against his tongue, smiling when Patrick pushes back into his touch.

“You can do that if you like,” Patrick says between gasps. His hands are moving to between his own legs, working on his cock as Pete smirks, pressing his face between Patrick's cheeks again.

He uses his tongue and fingers, pressing both inside of Patrick until he comes. Pete feels it, keeps two of his fingers inside just to feel the clench around his digits. He's hard to the front of his jeans, but this isn't about him right now, so he ignores it.

Patrick wipes his hand off with the box of tissues he has on his coffee table before turning around. His face is all pink but he's smiling sweetly, happily, and pulling on Pete’s shirt until he's falling on top of him.

 

Epilogue

Things work out alright in the end. It's hard, sometimes, because Patrick hides a lot of what happened between Jonathan and himself over those last few weeks. Pete manages to get out that Jonathan had friends come over before the arrangement ended. Pete knows what _'having friends over'_ in this situation means and Pete’s sure this counts as rape, but Patrick never calls it that. He won't talk about it, shakes his head violently whenever Pete brings it up.

“It's still too fresh, Pete. I haven't processed it myself. You gotta let me deal with it before I can let you go there,” Patrick says every time Pete tries to talk about it. He's sweet about it, but he flinches every time Pete goes near for the few hours afterward. He tries not to bring it up much, but it always stays close to the forefront of his mind.

 

Bronx takes the whole dating Patrick thing very well. Mostly because it means ample time with Penny and that's pretty much all he cares about. But Patrick comes over to the apartment and cooks dinner for them all every Wednesday and Thursday and that has his heart too.

“You know, if you're ever needed at the bar when you've got Bronx, I can keep an eye on him.” Patrick tells him when they're at the bar one night. The bar has proven to be a success, probably down to Gabe's eye for publicity, but it means Pete's had to be there far more than he anticipated. He's supposedly the background owner, the back of house kind of guy, but he actually really loves it. It brings out his former attention whore.

Pete turns to Patrick, hand on his shoulder. “You'd do that?”

“Bronx is awesome. And he has the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles boxset, it's so awesome.” Patrick leans in to Pete’s touch, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Pete lives for those little Patrick smiles, mostly because he's a sap and he's in love with him. Pete tugs Patrick in close, fingers resting against Patrick's smooth, damp jaw.

“Awesome awesome?” Pete teases, but Patrick just raises his eyebrows haughtily, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “Fine. But okay. Subject change: live music is where we wanna go and I want you to take a slot here once a week.”

“No way.” Patrick shakes his head straight away, taking a sip of his drink before staring at Pete's offended face. “Pete, we sleep together, I don't want it to come across like this is some favor you owe me. I don't want that.”

“Sounds like a hang-up,” Pete responds, staring at Patrick. Patrick's got a lot more of them than he lets on. The escorting affected him in ways he doesn't like to admit, more than either of them really anticipated.

“I _know_. I know it's probably irrational, that no one knows who I am or anything, but I don't know. I wouldn't feel comfortable. I'm sorry.” Patrick looks genuine with his apology so Pete accepts it with a half-shoulder shrug. 

“You still gonna play McCoy's?” Pete asks instead, touching his hand to Patrick's hip. He feels the roughness of his jeans; will look forward to searching out the skin beneath the clothes later.

“Of course. Plus, I owe Travis so much. He looked out for me when we weren't talking.” Patrick puts his drink back on the bar he was resting against before pushing his palms against Pete’s chest and leaving them there.

“When I was screwing Bill?” Pete puts it bluntly. 

“Uhuh, that's right.” Patrick slides closer, hands locking over Pete’s neck. They just sway goofily for a while, out of time to the music, until he slides his lips over Patrick's and feels him grin against his mouth.

“I still hate myself for that,” Pete admits. He's glad he had that time with Bill, he needed to fuck away some of the pain. He needed casual fucking and he wasn't going to get emotionless sex with Patrick; he needed to rebound after his marriage fell apart. He regrets hurting Patrick in the process, but they're over it, he can tell with how Patrick smiles at him.

“You're forgiven.” Patrick presses his lips to Pete’s jaw, his fingers warm as they curl in the hair at the nape of Pete’s neck. Pete’s about to respond when he feels a body hovering over them. He looks up to see Joe staring at them curiously.

“So. I guess my vibes weren't wrong,” he says, staring between Pete and Patrick, especially at where Pete’s hands are so low on Patrick's hips that they're not even on his hips. He's just groping his ass at this point. 

“Not wrong at all,” Pete says, pulling away from Patrick, who looks at the half-finished beer in Joe's hand and promptly orders him another one. “Didn't know you were here, man.”

“Yeah. We thought it was time we checked out your joint. Marie is here, somewhere... I don't know, I lost her about ten minutes ago.” Joe fake-grimaces and Pete laughs, bumping his knuckles to Joe's shoulder. “It's a cool little spot you've got.”

“Yeah? We were going to invite everyone in the apartment at one point, but I still don't talk to anyone in the block asides from you and Marie.” Pete's tried to make an effort to smile more at the other residents, but he wonders how much of his soap opera life they know when he sees how they smile awkwardly back.

“And Patrick,” Joe adds, tapping the neck of his bottle with Patrick's new drink.

“And _Bill_ ,” Patrick says, not sounding completely disappointed about it. He's okay with the friendship Pete has with Bill, mostly because he knows it wasn't really anything to get jealous over once Pete explained.

“Yeah okay. But other that.” Pete rolls his eyes. They chat with Joe for a little while longer. Joe's got a soft spot for Patrick, probably because he found him unconscious behind the dumpsters, but it's cute to watch. Patrick can have everyone under his thumb pretty easily without even trying. 

 

“I like your bar,” Patrick giggles into his neck when they get home late that night. Most nights Patrick crashes over, bringing Penny with him. He says he's not ready to give his own place up yet, even if it's only across the lobby. Pete doesn't mind; he can wait.

“Hey, you don't ever hear from Jonathan do you?” Pete asks, sliding into his bed. Patrick's wriggled himself into the center, buried beneath the covers and he stares at Pete for a few seconds. Pete knows him enough now to realize Patrick's working out whether to lie or not. 

“A couple of times,” Patrick admits eventually, going for truth this time. He pushes his hair from his face before sitting up on his elbows, staring at Pete. “Checks in to call me an ugly whore every so often. Sometimes sends me pictures of myself.”

Patrick falls back down onto the bed, curling up on his side against Pete. He doesn't sound particularly upset. Pete thinks about it for a few seconds. “Pictures?”

“He took pictures of me, you know, doing things. Hidden cameras too, which I didn't know about till I came back one day and saw him and his friends watching them.” Patrick's face squeezes up for a few seconds, before he presses it down into the pillows. “He says he's going to put it all on the internet.”

Pete feels his own eyebrows fold in together and he turns to face Patrick, watching him bite down on his lip. He runs the pad of his thumb into the crease just under Patrick's lip. “He wouldn't do it, would he?” 

“I don't think so, I mean he's in half the videos and photos. Plus I've got my own leverage, right?” Patrick says and Pete remembers Patrick explaining the rape kit evidence after he came out of hospital. Pete tries not to think about it because it's so wrong, all of it is so terrible, and he was just over the hallway when it was happening. “I just ignore the messages though. I won't let him get me down.”

“Good.” Pete wraps his arm over Patrick's shoulders, pulling him in close and Patrick goes with it. “We're over all that shit now, right? So tell me a story.” 

Patrick laughs at the sudden change of direction, but this isn't anything new. Pete’s been getting over Patrick's old career by listening to stories Patrick tells him. There's deep internal debates Patrick had over covered oral; it meant no contact with grotty dicks, but the teat of the rubber tickled his throat if he took them too deep and, _'It's not exactly professional to cough up a dick when you're a professional cocksucker'_. Then the threesomes; _'Always one dude that's way more into it than the other one, used to call them relationship wreckers.'_ Patrick refuses to say the oldest he was with, but he mentions visiting a retirement village a few times and Pete almost lost his lunch after that.

Still, Pete’s okay with it now mostly. Patrick's doing good, and Pete’s doing great and they have Bronx and Penny. Patrick is his best friend, even if he's not the guy he thought he was at the start. He's not sure he wants him any other way than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone that's commented/kudo'd/enjoyed this. I wasn't sure how well a prostitution fic would go down without any visible whoring, but the response has been great :)


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